“My dear girl, what are you doing here?” questioned Alan in tones of alarm when he saw her pale face and anxious eyes. “Come in, Dick, close the door,” and shortly the three were in the private office, and Seymour had received orders to admit no one.
“I had to come up, Alan,” said Marie, clinging to his sleeve. “Oh, my dear, it is dreadful. Last night a policeman came with others, and they say that Uncle Ran murdered Mr. Grison. But it’s not true, I am sure it is not true,” and Marie burst into tears.
“I can’t say if it is or not, dear,” replied Alan uneasily, and kneeling by the side of the chair she dropped into. “But—but Mr. Sorley has not been arrested has he?”
“No,” wailed Marie, “and that is what makes me so afraid. Some boy came in the afternoon, and Uncle Ran went away on the motor bicycle, after giving me twenty pounds and saying that he would not return for a few days. The boy left the house also; I suppose so, although neither I nor Henny nor Granny nor Jenny saw him go. If Uncle Ran were innocent he wouldn’t run away, I’m sure. Oh, Alan, what is to be done? I can’t stay in the house, and as I had the money I came up to ask your advice.”
“Dear,” said Fuller, placing his arm around her waist tenderly, “the best thing for you to do is to return to The Monastery and wait.”
“But I’m all by myself Alan, and that horrid detective person is staying in the house. I can’t stop on there alone.”
“The girls and their grandmother are there, darling.”
“Oh, but what use are they. I want you,” she leaned her head on his shoulder, weeping profusely.
“But I can’t come and stop in The Monastery while your uncle is away, my dearest girl,” cried Alan much distressed; “people would talk. Suppose you go and stay with my mother for a time.”
“But if I did I should have to tell her the truth,” wept Marie; “and how can I say that Uncle Ran did what he didn’t do.”