Barksdale's blood ran cold during the recital, the scene so vividly pictured, the uncanny face before him. It was horrible. But over all came the realization that some hidden hand was deliberately striking at the life of Edward Morgan through the grave of the woman. The cowardliness, the infamy, the cruelty was overpowering. He turned away his face.
But the next instant he was cool. It was a frail and doubtful barrier between Edward and ruin, this mind unfolding its secret. If it failed there was no other witness.
"What became of the man, did you say?"
"I do not know. I wanted his face; I got it."
"Where did you last see him?"
"On the street." Barksdale arose deliberately.
"Mr. Morgan, how did you come here?"
"I suppose I walked. I want you to help me find the man who struck the blow."
"You are right, we must find the man. Now, I have a request to make. Edward trusted to my judgment in the other affair, and it came out right, did it not?"
"Yes. That is why I have come to you."