"In your profession, Drew," Gaston saw that he had gained his point, "you do not want to condone sin, but you want to understand the sinner as well as possible; and, Drew, you may take my word for it—I'm not in an overwhelming minority."
For a moment Drew tried to speak and failed. Every expression of his true thought seemed inadequate and futile. Presently he stretched his hand across the little space that divided him from his companion.
"Gaston," he said, "I thank you. It does make a difference. It makes—all the difference in the world."
His thin, blue-veined hand fell upon Gaston's strong, brown one, which lay spread upon the chairarm.
Gaston did not flinch under the touch. He did not seem to notice it.
"Drew," he continued after a long pause, "it will help me—to find her, perhaps, if you tell me the little that you know. I am not going to let her slip if I have to hunt every inch of the woods for her. You must see that there is danger in every moment's delay.
"Can you tell me if any one has seen her and talked with her who might influence her from an—outside point of view?"
Drew was sorely perplexed. He realized that Ruth's wild description of her encounter with Joyce had left many unexplained points. Evidently Joyce herself had, in some way, learned more of Gaston's past than Drew had at first supposed. Then, to tell Gaston, even in his trouble, that a guest of his, Drew's, had gone into the other's home and caused this calamity, was too cold-blooded a thing to do, without due consideration.
He knew, better than his companion did, that if Joyce had carried out her intention, there was no need of haste.
Gaston was looking keenly at him.