He was wrong. Ruth’s suspicions had already been aroused, and now Clay had justified them out of his own mouth. She knew that he was going north where Jimmy, who had spoken of some plan for improving his fortune, had been engaged at the wreck. Clay had mentioned a share of the plunder, so something was far from straight. Worse still, he seemed to have been urging her father to go with him.
It had cost her an effort to maintain her composure when she gave him the telegram, and her face was pale when she went downstairs and sat in a corner of the empty hall. Ruth had had a shock. Until lately she had given her indulgent father her wholehearted affection and respect. His life had long been hard, but she believed he had at last achieved success by courage and integrity. Then she began to distrust his association with Clay, and by degrees perplexing doubts had grown up. She was imaginative, and when she began to form a theory, odd facts that had accidentally come to her knowledge had fitted in. Vessels, she knew, were sometimes lost by their owners’ consent and frauds perpetrated on the underwriters. It was horrible to think that, but what Clay had said indicated something of the kind.
Then, as she recovered from the shock, she felt pitiful, and tried to make excuses for her father. He must have been hard pressed when he yielded to temptation, and his partner had, no doubt, placed it in his way. She was filled with a desire to protect him. He must be saved from the evil influence that had led him into wrong. She remembered that Clay had declared he owed her a debt of gratitude. She would remind him of it. He must release her father from whatever hold he had on him; she had a curious confidence that he would do so if she begged it.
She waited, nerving herself for the effort, until he came downstairs and then she beckoned him into the empty drawing-room.
“I suppose my father’s busy?”
“Yes; he has a letter to write.”
Clay leaned carelessly on a chair-back, watching her as she stood quietly confronting him. The intentness of her expression and her stillness were significant. She suspected something, and he was sorry for her; if he could remove her suspicions, he would do so.
“Then he won’t be down for some minutes,” she said. “I have something to say—you have been trying to make him go North with you?”
“No; not exactly. I’m not sure I could make him; he’s pretty determined. Don’t you want him to go?”
“No!” she cried. “You mustn’t take him! And in future you must leave him alone. I can’t let you force him to do things he hates!”