"You must help me all you can," he said, laying his hand for a moment on her arm. "I've been fighting in the dark. I must find you apartments where you will not be discovered by the Robinsons, whose criminal designs on the property inheritance will halt at nothing, and—you must tell me all you can."
"I will," she said; "only——"
And there she halted, her eyes raised to his in mute appeal, a dumb fear expressed in their depths.
They had both avoided the topic of the murder, at the news of which she had fainted. Garrison almost feared it, and Dorothy evidently dreaded its approach.
More than anything else Garrison felt he must know she was innocent. That was the one vital thing to him now, whether she could ever return his love or not. He loved her in every conceivable manner, fondly, passionately, sacredly, with the tenderest wishes for her comfort and happiness. He believed in her now as he always had, whensoever they were together. Nevertheless, he could not abandon all his faculties and plunge into folly like a blind and confident fool.
"I'd like to ask about the jewels first," he said. "The night I first came to your home I entered the place next door by accident. A fancy-dress party was in progress."
"Yes—I knew it. They used to be friends of Theodore's."
"So I guessed," he added dryly. "Theodore was there."
"Theodore—there?" she echoed in surprise he felt to be genuine. "Why, but—don't you remember you met him with the others in my house, soon after you came?"
"I do, perfectly. Nevertheless, I saw him in the other house, in mask, I assure you, dressed to represent Mephistopheles. Last night I found the costume in his closet, and the stairs at the rear were his, of course, to employ."