"That is irrelevant. It is not any question of shame or conscience, which are abstract things. It is merely one of fact—that is, whether you did or did not help Miss Catherwood, the spy, to escape. I am convinced that you helped her—not that I condemn you for it or that I am sorry you did so. Perhaps it is for my interest that you have acted thus. You were absent from your usual haunts yesterday and the night before, and it was within that time that the spy disappeared from Miss Grayson's. I have no doubt that you were with her. You see, I did not press the question when the others were here. I halted at the critical point. I had that much consideration for you."
He stopped again and the glances of these two strong men met once more; Prescott's open and defiant, Sefton's cunning and indirect.
"I hear that she is young and very beautiful," said the Secretary thoughtfully.
Prescott flushed.
"Yes, young and very beautiful," continued the Secretary. "One might even think that she was more beautiful than Helen Harley."
Prescott said nothing, but the deep flush remained on his face.
"Therefore," continued the Secretary, "I should imagine that your stay with her was not unpleasant."
"Mr. Sefton," exclaimed Prescott, taking an angry step forward, "your intimation is an insult and one that I do not propose to endure."
"You mistake my meaning," said the Secretary calmly. "I intended no such intimation as you thought, but I wonder what Helen Harley would think of the long period that you have spent with one as young and beautiful as herself."
He smiled a little, showing his white teeth, and Prescott, thrown off his guard, replied: