In the evening Nellie Mannion, composed and quiet, sat before Nick Carter as a person might sit before a prosecuting attorney.
"I have nothing to conceal," she said, "except the place where my husband is hidden. You will never find it, and you will never see him again."
Her tone was so positive that Nick felt a cold chill run down his spine; but he quickly recovered his spirits, and met her look with a smile of disbelief.
"I am sorry I threw your friend down the well," she continued, "but I had to do it. I suspected him on the boat, and the scream was given to test that suspicion. If he were a detective, he would follow me, and my scream would bring him to my side. It did. The well offered the only opportunity to rid myself of his pursuit. Rather would I myself have died than have permitted him to follow me to my husband's place of concealment."
Her face flushed, and Nick could not but admire as well as pity her.
"You came back to rescue him," he said, "and that action must go to your credit."
"I did not desire his death," she replied; "and when I had accomplished the purpose for which I had set out, I returned with a rope and assisted him in getting out."
"You say that your husband is beyond my reach. Do you mean by that that he will never return to Washington?"
"That is what I mean, Mr. Carter. I will say, however, that it was not his intention to leave these parts, until I told him yesterday what I heard you say to father. If I had not come to him with the news you were kind enough"—here she smiled—"to furnish me, he would have made his appearance in town within a week."
"If he was not afraid of arrest, why did he run away?" queried the detective.