Fully alive now to the delicacy and danger of the situation, Leslie lifted her hand and turned toward the door. “Wait,” she said, and went swiftly out.
“So,” muttered Stanhope, as he again contemplated the picture, “a square foot of canvas can spoil all my plans. If Van has seen this, my work becomes doubly hard, and Warburton’s case a desperate one.”
While he pondered, Leslie came softly back, and stood before him.
“It is as bad as you feared,” she said, tremulously. “Van Vernet was received in this very room, the servant tells me. He saw the picture, examined it closely, and asked the name of the original.”
“Then,” said Stanhope, rising, “the picture need not be removed. It has done all the mischief it can. To remove it now would only make a suspicion a certainty. Listen, madam, and as soon as possible report what I tell you to Alan Warburton. A short time ago, Mamma Francoise and one of her tools left the note I hold, at your basement-door. Van Vernet, who was watching near here, saw them and followed them.”
“Oh!”
“He has seen that picture. Tell your brother-in-law that Van Vernet has seen it and, doubtless, has traced the resemblance between it and the fugitive Sailor; tell him that Vernet is now on the track of the Francoises, who, if found, will be used to convict him of murder.”
“But—Alan is not guilty.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“I—I—” She faltered and was silent.