"I read them, Hermione, because, without suspicion and by mere accident, I had read your telegram to Charlton Beardsley the other day."
She rose up now. There was a movement of her small clasped hands, as tho she wrung them together.
"When I read it at the post-office, merely to aid in its transmission, I saw its significance only too plainly. I withheld it for a day. Then I had it sent by an agent whom I could trust, and whom I instructed to watch the house of the recipient. I could not have connived at the man's escape. Had he tried to get away after receiving your wire, I should have been justified in his arrest."
"Did you have my message sent from Hilyard?" she asked suddenly.
"No. From New York. But it was the exact message."
She was white to the lips. "It had no significance coming from New York." She lifted both hands with a gesture of despair.
Instinctively he chose quick words to comfort her. "No, you wanted to warn him against coming here! But Beardsley had gone. I suppose he had got some other warning. He had fled three days before. My men could gain no information."
She was comforted. Some color returned to her face.
Alden spoke out once more. "In Heaven's name, what motive have you for seeking this man's freedom? Why hide these letters? They are written between Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan. What secret of yours can they contain?"
She looked at him with unutterable pain in her face, but gave no word or sound.