"Quite so," Monsieur exclaimed, warming up with the notion of doing detective work. "I was playing roulette—but, pardon me, you have heard."
"Do you remember any one around the table who showed new-looking bills?"
"No. We were the only ones playing, and but a few were looking on."
"The restaurant was crowded," Tommy said, "and connects with the gambling rooms. Mightn't they send money back and forth if needed?"
"Quite probable."
In the silence that followed I started twice to tell him that Sylvia's father had used a new bill of that denomination, yet the words would not come. It seemed a sneaky thing to do, after she had turned to me for help. Yet, if she were in danger, what quicker way to safety than arrest the old vulture who had her in his power? So I said:
"Mr. Hardwick, last night in that restaurant I saw a man——" but this time something stopped my words. It was a voice, a girl's voice, beautiful with an impassioned ring of protest, that cried from some place near us on the water:
"It isn't fair!"
It isn't fair! Oh, the just and pleading accusation of that cry! I sprang up, loudly calling her name:
"Sylvia!"