“Of course I had a definite object in coming to see you, Mr. Bruce,” went on the young lady. “I have been coolly told that, because somebody killed somebody else some months ago, a young gentlemen who asked me to be his wife, is not only not going to marry me but intends to spend the rest of his life in Central Africa or China—anywhere in fact but where I may be.”
“A most unwise resolve,” said the barrister.
“So I thought. You appear to hold the key to the situation; and, as it is an easy matter to trace you through the Directory, here I am. My people think I am skating at St. James’s.”
“Well, Miss Browne,” said Claude, “I am neither judge nor jury nor counsel for the prosecution, but there is the culprit. I hand him over to you.”
“Yes; but that goose didn’t kill anybody, did he?”
“No.”
“And I am sure his sister did not; from what little I saw of her she would not hurt a fly.”
“Quite true.”
“Then why don’t you find the man who caused all the mischief—and—and—lock him up at least, so that he cannot go on injuring people?”
Miss Phyllis was very brave and self-confident at the outset. Now she was on the verge of tears, for Mensmore’s saddened face and depressed manner unnerved her more than his passionate words at their last interview.