“There is no hope left,” she said. “The man who sent the message made absolutely certain or he would never have written it.”
Earle glanced at the vicar, who nodded gravely.
“I wish I had not to admit it, but I feel that Violet is right,” he said. “Would you like me to drive over with you, my dear?”
“No,” said the girl quietly. “I would much sooner be alone.”
She passed out from among them, and Earle turned to the vicar again.
“It does not sound charitable, and I fancy you and Hester know rather more about the affair than I do, but I can’t help believing that Tony could not have done Violet a greater kindness,” he said. “I am, however, a trifle astonished that you seem to participate in the curious belief she evidently has in Appleby. You can’t be well acquainted with him, and he is taking a serious risk in coming here since there is still a warrant out for him.”
The vicar smiled. “I have heard a little about him, and I scarcely think he would let the fact you mention stop him carrying out what he felt was his duty.”
The vicar’s faith was warranted, for while Violet Wayne was driven home that evening with her thoughts in a whirl, and a remorseful tenderness which overlooked the dead man’s shortcomings bringing a mist to her eyes, Appleby sat under the electric lights in a room of a great New York building. He felt the pulsations of a vast activity about him, for the thick doors and maple partitions could not shut out the whir of the elevators, tinkle of telephone bells, murmur of voices, and patter of hasty feet, though his eyes were on the agreement bond he was attaching his name to.
Harding, who sat opposite him, smiled as he laid down the pen.
“Now I guess that’s all fixed up, and I don’t think I’m going to be sorry I took you into the business,” he said. “You’ll draw ’most enough already to live out on the Hudson if it pleases you, and, so far as I can figure, we’ll roll in money once we get the sugar trade going again. You’ll go right back and straighten up when we’ve whipped the Spaniards out of Cuba.”