“I should like to,” she answered. “I am so glad I stayed.”
Some instinct prompted me to rise and leave the room. I went out and met my father in the hall.
“Father,” I said, “there is a girl here who says she has identified that man. She is his sister. She is waiting to see you.”
My father had evidently come in tired out; he leaned against the wall for support. He was out of breath, too, and pale.
“What does she want with me?” he asked, sharply.
“She came to ask if we knew of any family of the name of Maltabar. Philip Maltabar, it seems, is the name of a man who has been her brother’s enemy. She thinks that this thing must have been his doing. She cannot think of any one else with whom he has ever been on bad terms. I have told her that there is no one of that name in these parts.”
He cleared his throat. He was very hoarse and ghastly pale.
“Quite right, Kate,” he said. “There is no one of that name around here. What more does she want? What does she want of me?”
“I told her that I knew of no one, but she came to see you in the first place. She does not seem quite satisfied. She wants to ask you herself.”
He drew back a step.