"She might know," said Roderick scowling. "I'll ask her. Darrel, I am not at all satisfied with Lydia. If she played fast and loose with Grent, she will some day do the same with me. She seems to know more of this black business than she should do, and I'll marry no woman who is under such a cloud. I'll ask her to explain all about this Mortality-lane business, and if she can't explain to my satisfaction, I'll give her up."
"Indeed, I think you will be wise to do so, Roderick. I don't think she is a good woman. But if she confesses, you must tell me what she says."
"I'll come and see you as soon as I get the truth out of her. I hope she is innocent, for I love her, Darrel. But my heart misgives me; God help me, it misgives me slowly." And Blake, quite changed from his usual merry self, walked out of the room with hanging head. Darrel was quite sorry for the poor fellow, but found a morsel of philosophy in his grief.
"Ah, well," thought he, "Blake isn't the first man who has been deceived by a woman. It is better to find out a woman's character before marriage than after. I hope he'll escape Lydia Hargone's clutches. She's a snake in the grass, if ever there was one."
Two day's afterwards, Torry reappeared in Darrel's room, accompanied by Vass. Both men were very much excited, and laid before Frank a letter.
"There," said Torry smoothing out the envelope, "what do you think that is?"
"A letter to Mr. Vass," replied Frank, looking at the address.
"More than that," cried the secretary in his high, thin voice. "It is a letter from the man who killed Grent and Julia Brawn."