“Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan’s imprisonment.”
“Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?”
He smiled. “My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I distrust even myself.”
“Forgive my curiosity!”
Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. “I am glad to see you again.”
“Ah, Sahib!”
The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora’s mind was Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man’s heart. Checkmate!
“I should like to help you,” she said, truthfully.
“In what way?”
It was useless, but she continued: “She does not know that you went to Flora Desimone’s that night.”