And so did the bare recollection. Once more the persistent veil had to be swept aside—this time with a nervous, agitated hand—and the recital was taken up again, precipitately, in a veritable rush of words. As the crisis was gradually approached, the suspense became almost unendurable; the effect of what the actuality had been upon the tender, thoughtless witness thereof became more and more manifest—undoubtedly a shock and a horror too deep and far-reaching for expression. The gravity of the situation could scarcely be overestimated. The issue now hanging in the balance was so vital, so momentous, that at least two of the auditors were in a state of anxious, doubtful eagerness which blinded them to the girl's true condition.
"As Señor de Sanchez came nearer between the two doors—Mr. Nettleton's and Mobley's—I was obliged to widen the crack somewhat, or else the man would have passed from my view. So great was the spell in which his undisguised self held me, that I did so without being aware of the act until too late. But I need not have feared that the movement would attract his attention—" The little hand clutched the unyielding arm convulsively, another shudder swept over the slight form, and her voice all at once lowered and became hoarse.
"I had no thought at all," she continued, receding from the one point for which they were all so eager, yet feared to interrupt the recital of to hear. "I was aware of nothing but a blind, unreasoning instinct to escape. I ran wildly toward the door opening into the next office, where I almost ran into Clay. But I did not pause; his speechless astonishment made no impression upon me; I thought nothing of it when he hastened by me into the room I had just quitted, as if to learn the cause of my agitation and unceremonious intrusion upon his privacy—I was simply wild to escape, and I ran on to the other hall door, where I stopped again. Other footsteps! I thought that terrible man would be for ever in passing, and I crouched there, clinging to the door-knob and whimpering like a terrified child. Then, quite suddenly, through the crack of the door, I caught a glimpse of Howard Lynden; he too was going towards my brother's—"
She paused and placed a hand to her throat, and all at once Converse became sensible of the fact that the pressure of the hand on his arm was increasing; that now, instead of lying there to hold his attention, it was in reality supporting the speaker. It seemed as if her will were putting forth its last effort to bear her up until she had finished.
"But what you saw—" he demanded. "Hurry, Miss Westbrook; what was it you saw before you fled?"
"As—as Señor de Sanchez got between me and—and Mobley's door, Howard—"
"Lynden?" sharply, from the detective.
"No, no. What was I saying? Howard was not there. Why do you draw so far away from me?"
The veil was becoming more persistent, the effort to remove it weaker and more unavailing. Unnoticed by Joyce, Mrs. Westbrook glided to her side, and for the second time that night passed a supporting arm about her daughter's waist. At the same time Converse clasped the trembling hand on his arm; he felt its hold loosening.
"Just one word more, and this thing must end," he said, with abrupt authority. "De Sanchez got between you and the Doctor's door," he prompted. "What then?"