"Perhaps I look better than I feel, dear," responded Clara; "but I confess that, in spite of everything, I do feel hopeful. Here is a sad letter from poor Litizki. Read it, and tell me if, underneath all his terrible madness, there is not some ground for hope."
Louise read with awe-struck attention, and laid the long letter down with a shudder of horror.
"How dreadful!" she exclaimed under her breath, "and yet with what perfect clearness he expresses himself! No rambling, few repetitions, everything directly to the point as he sees it."
"That is the way it impresses me. Litizki was not all mad. Would it not be madness in us to ignore his information?"
"Indeed it would! what will you do?"
"Do you know Paul Palovna's address?"
"No, but Ralph would."
"I shall write a note to Paul. Get right up, please, and write to Ralph, telling him to see that my note reaches Paul as soon as possible. Of course, we cannot follow poor Litizki's plan, for he believed that he had killed Poubalov. How he must suffer! But we can investigate his theory, at all events, in our own way."
The letters they wrote were taken to Ralph Harmon by a servant, and shortly before noon Paul appeared at Mr. Pembroke's house, in answer to Clara's summons. Her uncle had returned to Boston as he had planned, but he had sent word that he should not be able to come home until some time in the evening. So, again, Clara was thrown upon her own resources for guidance and action.
Clara went over the whole situation with Paul, who expressed his regret that she had not sooner called upon him for assistance.