“Not quite. No—there is a doubt. He should have the benefit of the doubt. A man should not be condemned before he is tried, after all. If Miss L’Estrange was to say that there were no certificates, that would be proof. You must know her address—give it to me, and let me go straight to her—”
“Certainly, I have her address,” said Van Hupfeldt, his eyes winking a little with crafty thought, “but not, of course, in my head. You shall have it in a day or two. You can then write and question her from Rigsworth, and she will tell you that no certificate ever fell out of any picture.” He thought to himself: “for I shall see that she tells you what I wish, if she has any love of money.”
“But couldn’t you give me the address to-day?” asked Violet. “That would settle everything at once.”
“To-day I’m afraid it is out of the question,” answered Van Hupfeldt. “I have it put away in some drawer of some bureau. It may take a day or two; but find it I will, and, meantime, is it much to expect that my angel will believe in her one best and eternal friend? Assure me now that you will not see this undesirable person this evening.”
“I do not mean to at this moment, but I do not decide. I said that I would. He pretends he has something to say to me—”
“He has nothing! He is merely impudent. Where were you to see him? At the grave, I think? At the grave?”
Violet blushed and made no answer. Mrs. Mordaunt came in. “So, mother,” said Violet to her, “we go home to-morrow?”
“I have thought that it might be well, dear,” answered her mother, “in which case we shall have enough to do between now and then.”
“But why the sudden decision?”