She shook her head again.
"Did he give you any clue as to his identity?"
"None whatever," she replied with a little gleam of amusement in her eyes. "What a detective you are, Stafford! And I thought you were coming down here to tell me"—the colour went to her cheeks—"well, to tell me the news," she added hastily. "Is there any news?"
"None, except——"
Then he remembered that she knew nothing whatever of her father's death and its tragic sequel, and this was not the moment to tell her. Later, when she was stronger, perhaps.
She was watching him with trouble in her eyes. She had noted how quickly he had stopped and guessed that there was something to be told which he was withholding for fear of hurting her. Her father was uppermost in her mind and it was natural that she should think of him.
"Is there any news of my father?" she asked quietly.
"None," he lied.
"You're not speaking the truth, Stafford." She put her hand on his arm. "Stafford, is there any news of my father?"
He looked at her, and she saw the pain in his face.