As she sank back, Stanhope gently released her hands, and stepping aside to make way for Mrs. French and Winnie, said in a low tone to Alan:
“She has been terribly tried; do not let her talk until she is stronger. She needs a physician’s care.”
“She shall have it,” returned Alan, moving with Stanhope toward the door. “Mr. Stanhope, I—I know, through Mr. Follingsbee, of the interest you have taken in my welfare, but I realize to-day, as I could not before, how much your protection has been worth. I see what would have been the result of my remaining here. Vernet would have dragged me before the public, as a felon. But you are eager to go. I will not attempt to express my gratitude now; I expect and intend to see you again, here and elsewhere.”
He extended his hand and clasped that of Stanhope with a hearty pressure.
And then, with a sign to the sham Priest who had been his silent abettor, Stanhope hurried from the room and from the house.
Vernet was standing alone on the pavement. His two assistants, having been dismissed, were already some distance away.
“I have waited,” he said, turning his face at Stanhope’s approach, but without changing his position of body, “because I would not gratify you by running away. Have you anything further to add to your triumph?”
For a moment Stanhope’s eyes seemed piercing him through and through. Then he smiled.
“When our Chief told me, Van,” he said slowly, “that you had determined to try your strength against mine, I felt hurt, but not angry. That was a disappointment; it was the game you played at the masquerade which has cost you this present humiliation. But for that night, I swear to you, I should never have interfered, never laid a straw in your way. Let us move on, Van, and talk as we go.”
He made a signal to the disguised officer standing near him, and that individual, accepting his dismissal by a quick nod, moved down the street with an alacrity quite unbecoming to his clerical garb.