She threw back her head. "What appears yet more clearly is that people I have trusted have betrayed me." Over the prominent blue eyes the lids drooped a little. "In my absence some one has laid a trap." She turned to Napier, with a breath-taking sharpness. "Is it you?"
He met her gaze. "I warned them about Gull Island, and I—"
"Gull Island! What has Gull Island to do with me?"
"No, no," said Sir William. "I don't myself connect you with the Gull Island business."
"Nor,"—she made a slight inclination that seemed to say she was not to be outdone in chivalry—"nor do I need to be told that you, Sir William, have no hand in this. You weren't made for such work."
Sir William's rolling eye caught, as it were, upon some unexpected support. It rested for one mollified moment.
"I haven't lived under your roof all these months," she went on, "under the protection of your great name, without understanding you, even though people you think your friends cruelly misunderstand me." The voice caught; she carried her handkerchief to her shaking lips. Singleton read signs in Sir William's countenance that made him anxious to end the passage between the owner of the great protecting name and the lady who invoked it. Singleton had joined Grindley, who stood leaning against the wall behind Sir William. In an impatient undertone, "Why didn't you tell him?" demanded Singleton.
"Did," Grindley answered. "Understood diary and tracing. Didn't give himself time to take in the—" His hand came out of his side pocket with a paper. Singleton plucked it away from him and carried it over to Sir William. As it passed, Napier caught a glimpse of Miss Greta's handwriting on a telegraph form bearing the post-office stamp.
"This was sent out from here at noon to-day." Singleton held the message under Sir William's eyes.
"Well, what of it?" retorted Sir William. "A perfectly proper instruction to a broker."