"He agreed with me that,—for the time being, at any rate, or until something developed to give an idea which way the cat was likely to jump,—it was just as well that I exile myself; offering the one objection, that I was likely to direct suspicion to myself. That was a contingency encouraging rather than deterring, and he promised, finally, to lend me every aid.
"Next day he confided the plan to Joyce, who immediately elected herself the guiding spirit of the enterprise: President might be the intermediary, but no other hands than hers could prepare the food. God bless her!"
"But we have wandered far from the point," the Captain remarked tersely. "What did Miss Joyce see in the hall?"
"To be brief, Mr. Converse," returned Clay, "I don't know. I was trusting, before you came, that you yourself would know. The little time we were together she would not speak of it. Whatever it was, it had affected her profoundly, filling her with a horror she could not banish. But I do know that she did not see the assassin: she said as much."
"Ah-h-h! Did she say directly that she had not?" The gray eyes suddenly narrowed.
"Yes. I asked her if she had."
"And her answer?"
"Was no."
A gleam shot between the contracted lids, which obviously was irrepressible.
"I am glad the situation yields you something, at any rate," said Clay; and Charlotte added anxiously, "What is it, Mr. Converse?"