“We had a long talk about him last night. He told me a remarkable story,” Captain Palliser went on. “I suppose you are quite familiar with all the details of it?”
“I know how he found him in New York, and I know how generous he has been to him.”
“Have you been told nothing more?”
“There was nothing more to tell. If there was anything, I am sure he had some good reason for not telling me,” said Miss Alicia, loyally. “His reasons are always good.”
Palliser's air of losing a shade or so of discretion as a result of astonishment was really well done.
“Do you mean to say that he has not even hinted that ever since he arrived at Temple Barholm he has strongly suspected Strangeways' identity—that he has even known who he is?” he exclaimed.
Miss Alicia's small hands clung to the table-cloth.
“He has not known at all. He has been most anxious to discover. He has used every endeavor,” she brought out with some difficulty.
“You say he has been trying to find out?” Palliser interposed.
“He has been more than anxious,” she protested. “He has been to London again and again; he has gone to great expense; he has even seen people from Scotland Yard. I have sometimes almost thought he was assuming more responsibility than was just to himself. In the case of a relative or an old friend, but for an entire stranger—Oh, really, I ought not to seem to criticize. I do not presume to criticize his wonderful generosity and determination and goodness. No one should presume to question him.”