"May I—write to you?"
"I should be sorry if you did."
She raised her eyes and again looked at him steadily in silence, looked until he turned away.
"How hard you make it, how hard!" she said at length. "How am I to know what is happening if I go away? I am sure you are expecting his arrest. Why did those two troopers go off so mysteriously this afternoon? They did not go to the railway. I watched them from upstairs. They rode the other way."
He did not reply.
"Will you answer me this one question? Do you believe I know he is the thief?"
"If there is anything that I can do to help or assist you in your present difficulty, Mrs. Eustace, I shall be only too pleased to do it. But I cannot discuss the robbery with you."
For the first time there was a tone of sternness in his voice.
"Then I take it that you do," she said. "I only want to tell you this. I still do not believe he did it. I know he is—he is not as you are. I have tried to shield this from you. I did not want you to know—then. Now I have told you. I did not know he was going to run away. I did not know he had gone until Brennan came to arrest him. But I can understand why he went. He knew the bank would suspect him at once, knew that there was a black record against him. It was cowardly of him, cowardly to leave me here alone. But he has gone, and I do not think I shall ever hear from him or see him again. That is why I want to remain here. If I go away, I may never know; if I am here, I shall be able to find out. But don't think that I know either that he intended to run away or where he has gone. At least have that much faith in me."
"I did think so," he said quickly. "Now I do not."