Cheyne glanced at her sharply, and then turned to Allonby. “It strikes you that way, too?”
“Of course,” said Allonby unguardedly. “It is too bad of Larry. He has beaten us again, though Clavering fixed the thing quite nicely.”
Cheyne’s face grew stern. “I am to understand that you did not warn the engineer or any of the railroad men?”
“No,” said Allonby, with evident embarrassment. “We didn’t. It was necessary to make the thing as ugly for Larry’s friends as we could, and we knew you would be at the bridge. If you had caught them in the act, with the train not far away, it would have looked ever so much better for us—and you.”
He stopped, with an unpleasant feeling that he had blundered. Cheyne’s face had become grimmer. Miss Schuyler’s lips were curled in a little scornful smile, and there was a curious sparkle in Hetty’s eyes.
“I wonder if you quite recognize the depth of Mr. Grant’s iniquity yet?” Flora Schuyler asked.
Cheyne smiled. “I confess I should very much like to meet the man. You see, my profession prevents my being a partisan, and the cleverness and daring of what he has evidently done appeals to me. He took the chances of his own men turning on him to save them from an affray with us, brought them off, and sent your cattle-train through; and what, it seems to me, was more than all, disregarded the probability of his enemies associating him with the contriving of the outrage.”
“Wouldn’t you have done that?” asked Miss Allonby.
“No,” said the soldier quietly. “I don’t think I should. A man who would do what this one has done would be very likely to take a hand in that kind of thing.”
Again there was an almost embarrassing silence broken by Miss Allonby. “I wonder who could have told him.”