"How long ago was this?"
"More than two years. It was in spring-time, I think."
Karl Andinnian threw his recollection back. The name, Philip Salter, certainly seemed to begin to strike on some remote chord of his memory; but he had completely forgotten its associations.
"What of him, Rose?" he asked.
"This," she answered, her voice taking even a lower tone: "I should not be surprised if this Mr. Smith is the escaped man, Philip Salter! I think he may be."
"This man, Smith, Philip Salter!" exclaimed Karl. "But what grounds have you for thinking it?"
"I will tell you. When Mr. Smith came over a day or two ago, it was in the evening, growing dusk. Adam saw him in the upstairs room. They stood at the window--perhaps for the sake of the light, and seemed to be looking over some memorandum paper. I was walking about outside, and saw them. All at once something fell down from the window. I ran to pick it up, and found it was a pocket-book, lying open. Mr. Smith shouted out, 'Don't touch it, Mrs. Grey: don't trouble yourself,' and came rushing down the stairs. But I had picked it up, Karl; and I saw written inside it the name, Philip Salter. Without the least intention or thought of prying, I saw it: 'Philip Salter.' Mr. Smith was up with me the next moment, and I gave him the pocket-book, closed:"
"His Christian name is certainly Philip," observed Karl after a pause of thought. "I have seen his signature to receipts for rent--'Philip Smith.' This is a strange thing, Rose."
"Yes--if it be true. While he is planted here, spying upon Adam, he may be hiding from justice himself, a criminal."
Karl was in deep thought. "Was the name in the pocket-book on the
fly-leaf, Rose--as though it were the owner's name?"