"He did act well," admitted Allen, puzzled to think that his whimsical, frivolous father should act so nobly, "but you made him happy, mother. There is something to be said on your side."
"Nothing! nothing!" cried Mrs. Hill with the martyr instinct of a noble woman; "he gave up all for me. His father relented after a time, and he inherited a fortune, but for a year we almost starved together. He married me when I was under a cloud. I can never repay him; never, never, I tell you, Allen," she said, facing him with clenched fists, "if I thought that he committed this crime, I would take the blame on myself rather than let him suffer. He saved me. Shall I not save him?"
"Was the person who stole the necklace ever discovered, mother?"
"No, the necklace vanished and has never been found to this day. I met Lady Jane Strode when she came here. She did not believe me to be guilty, and we were good friends. So you see, Allen, it is small wonder that I let your father do what he likes. Why should I cross the desires of a man who behaved so nobly? Sometimes I do interfere, as you know, for at times Harold needs guidance--but only rarely."
"Well, mother, I understand now, and can say nothing. But as to how the revolver came to the Red Deeps----"
"Your father shall explain," said Mrs. Hill, moving to the door; "come with me."
The two went to the room at the back of the house where Hill had lain down. It was one of the Greek apartments where the little man sometimes took his siesta. But the graceful couch upon which Allen had left him lying an hour previous was empty, and the window was open on to the Roman colonnade. There was no sign of Mr. Hill.
"He must have gone into the garden," said the wife, and stepped out.
But there was no sign of him there. The gardener was working in the distance, and Mrs. Hill asked him where his master was.
"Gone to London, ma'am," was the unexpected answer; "Jacobs drove him to the Westhaven Station."