Ste. Marie's unsteady fingers opened and the crumpled paper slipped through them to the floor. Over it the man and the boy looked at each other in silence. Young Arthur Benham's face was white, and it was strained and contorted with its first grief. But first griefs do not last very long. Coira O'Hara had told the truth--before the year was out the lad would be glad of his freedom. But the man's face was white also, white and still, and his eyes held a strange expression which the boy could not understand and at which he wondered. The man was trembling a little from head to foot. The boy wondered about that, too, but abruptly he cried out: "What's up? Where are you going?" for Ste. Marie had turned all at once and was running down the stairs as fast as he could run.
XXX
JASON SAILS BACK TO COLCHIS.--JOURNEY'S END
In the hall below, Ste. Marie came violently into contact with and nearly overturned Richard Hartley, who was just giving his hat and stick to the man who had admitted him. Hartley seized upon him with an exclamation of pleasure, and wheeled him round to face the light. He said:
"I've been pursuing you all day. You're almost as difficult of access here in Paris as you were at La Lierre. How's the head?"
Ste. Marie put up an experimental hand. He had forgotten his injury. "Oh, that's all right," said he. "At least, I think so. Anderson fixed me up this afternoon. But I haven't time to talk to you. I'm in a hurry. To-morrow we'll have a long chin. Oh, how about Stewart?"
He lowered his voice, and Hartley answered him in the same tone.
"The man is in a delirium. Heaven knows how it'll end. He may die and he may pull through. I hope he pulls through--except for the sake of the family--because then we can make him pay for what he's done. I don't want him to go scot free by dying."