“I must look deeper into the matter, Miss Strickland, before I can tell you anything definite,” Nick interposed evasively. “I have not changed my opinion, such as it was, and I will lose no time in sifting the matter to the bottom. Try to be patient until I have done so.”
“I will try, Mr. Carter, at least,” she replied. “But all this must be the culmination of the terrible secret dread I have been feeling.”
“Secret dread?”
“I say that only because I have not mentioned it to any one, being unable to ascribe a definite cause for it,” Mina explained. “But it has been hanging over me like a depressing cloud ever since I first saw Pauline Perrot—ever since, in fact, the escape of that terrible criminal, Mortimer Deland, from the prison hospital.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Nick, regarding her more intently.
“You were employed by Arthur, you remember, to run him down,” she went on. “I have heard that Mortimer Deland never forgets, nor ever forgives. Since that extraordinary escape, Mr. Carter, I have lived in fear of him, for fear that he might attempt to kill Mr. Gordon, or in some terrible way avenge——”
“Pshaw!” Nick checked her kindly. “Put Deland out of your head. It is unfortunate, of course, that he fooled the hospital guards, and contrived to give them the slip.”
“Unfortunate, indeed.”
“But as far as seeking vengeance goes, it is much more probable that he immediately fled to Europe, whence he came,” Nick added. “Besides, I am the man he would seek, and not Gordon, for it was I who cornered and convicted him. There is no occasion for those apprehensions, Miss Strickland.”
“I hope not, I’m sure,” said Mina. “You are going?”