“I do not believe that Violet is dead. She is probably in hiding, fearful to return lest she should be delivered up to Harold Castello. But how strange that he permitted her to escape! Have you seen him? Did he tell you how it happened?”
“I have seen him, and he told me his theory. The French maid he employed to guard Violet disappeared at the same time, and he believed that she proved false to her trust and helped her mistress to escape.”
In a feeble voice, broken by remorseful sighs, he told Amber of the fire in Violet’s room that night, and that Castello had been forced to leave the house to have his burns dressed by a physician. During his absence she had escaped.
“So it was Harold Castello who sent for you a week ago?” Amber cried, eagerly.
“Yes.”
“But, grandpapa, you said it was a sick friend.”
“Harold Castello was sick from his burns.”
Amber’s eyes began to dilate with an awful suspicion. She panted, wildly:
“But you told me, did you not, that your sick friend was dead?”
“Yes, I told you so!”