"He is old," said the girl.
"I have noted that," said Mr. Sparhawk cheerfully. "And I sympathize with his infirmities. I have heard talk," he added, after a moment's reflection, "connecting your father with Monsieur—or, as the revolutionary manner has it, Citizen—Genêt. This gentleman and he," and the little man's head took the inquiring bird-like tilt, "are fast friends, I think."
"Well?" said the girl.
Mr. Sparhawk had evidently expected more or less enlightenment on this point; but now that he saw none was forthcoming he proceeded with adroit readiness.
"To-day your father visited another person, Mr. Amos Bulfinch, a usurer!"
The girl arose suddenly, but before she could speak Mr. Sparhawk once more lifted the protesting hand.
"If you will favor me with one more instant," said he. Then, as she stood looking at him: "Thank you. It would seem," said he, "there was one other person upon whom your father called since he's been in the city; and, if reports speak truly, the circumstances of the visit were peculiar. The person I refer to was one Magruder, a merchant, now dead."
The girl sat down; her face was very white.
"My father did not know Mr. Magruder," she said. "He never so much as saw him."
"The late night," said Mr. Sparhawk, "is commonly spoken of as the silent hours. But, while these hours have no voice, it has been shown time and again that they have many eyes. And on that particular night these eyes seem to have been more than usually vigilant. It is said," and Mr. Sparhawk nodded his head, and looked exceedingly unwilling to credit it, "that upon this visit you bore your father company."