“Perhaps her mother didn’t know you were here, sir.”
Dyck laughed grimly. “Michael, you’ve a lawyer’s mind. Perhaps you’re right. The girl may have hid from her mother all newspapers referring to me. That may well be; but it’s not the way that will bring understanding.”
“I think it’s the truth, sir, for Darius Boland spoke naught of the mother—indeed, he said only what would make me think the girl came with her own ends in view. Faith, I’m sure the mother did not know.”
“She will know now. Your Darius Boland will tell her.”
“By St. Peter, it doesn’t matter who tells her, sir. The business must be faced.”
“Michael, order my horse, and I will go to Spanish Town. This matter must be brought to a head. The truth must be told. Order my horse!”
“It is the very heat of the day, sir.”
“Then at five o’clock, after dinner, have my horse here.”
“Am I to ride with you, sir?”
Dyck nodded. “Yes, Michael. There’s only one thing to do—face all the facts with all the evidence, and you are fact and evidence too. You know more of the truth than any one else.”