It is by strange pathways that a woman's mind sometimes moves: she may take short cuts of the most dubious and fallacious kind to avoid a minute's traversing of the safe road, or walk a mile round in order to avoid a puddle over which she could easily step, but she at any rate knows when she has arrived, and at this juncture Lady Oxted got up and held out her hand to the doctor.
"I entreat your pardon," she said, "and, in any case, I trust you now."
A certain brightness shone in those dark, sad eyes, as he took her hand.
"I am glad to know that," he said, "and I advise you, if possible, to continue trusting me. You will have a trial of faith before long."
Geoffrey moved impatiently; all three seemed to have forgotten their manners.
"Oh, go on, man—go on!" he exclaimed.
"Bear in mind, then," said the doctor, "that we may be dealing with a lunatic. This fixed idea inclines me to that belief; the murder of young Harmsworth pulls the other way. But Mr. Francis has now made his plans; he told me them this morning, for I, as you will see, am to figure in them. And what he will do is this."
The doctor again paused, and adjusted his finger-tips together.
"He expects Harry," he said, "to return to Vail before the end of the month; he and his servant will return about the same time, or perhaps a day or two earlier, for there will be a few arrangements to make. I shall also accompany Mr. Francis, so he tells me, on the ground of his continued ill health."
"Ah, those heart attacks!" said Lady Oxted; "are they genuine?"