“That is the fact that he was seen just before the shooting, and he has not been seen since.”
“But surely he can be found?” So much she said, and then she covered her face with her hands and a dry sob shook her. In a few short hours the clearest proof of Brant’s innocence would come too late.
Jarvis understood, and he held his peace until she grew calmer. Then he said: “I’ve told you my errand, or at least the biggest part of it. But there is one other little thing in which you can help. The time has come for the forlorn hope to make its last dash. Antrim tells me that Mr. Hobart, Brant’s oldest friend, has just got word, and he is coming hotfoot to Denver on this evening’s train. I want to have a final rally of Brant’s friends at Forsyth’s office to-night to see if we can’t cook up some sort of an excuse to beg the Governor for a reprieve. It’s the only hope now.”
“But I—how can I help?” she asked eagerly.
“You can persuade your father to come down after dinner. Harry will call for him with a carriage.”
She did not reply at once, and when she spoke it was as one who feels the way. “Will you understand me if I say that my father thinks he has done his whole duty? You must remember that he believes firmly in Mr. Brant’s guilt—he has believed in it from the very first.”
“I know; but it must be your share in this last pull to make him believe as we do.”
“Oh, how can I?” she cried.
“I think I can put you in the way of doing it, but you must forgive me if I dig still deeper into a matter which is your own private affair, Miss Langford. You have had one interview with Brant since he was locked up, and any man with blood in his veins could guess what happened in that half hour you were together. I’m not going to ask you to repeat that talk for my benefit, but I do ask this: Didn’t Brant give you to understand that he believed your brother to be the guilty one?”
She was choking with mingled grief and humiliation and embarrassment, but she made shift to answer him: