"It certainly does," I replied swiftly, "for now I can work openly, knowing exactly what I ought to do. I have felt like a rat skulking in a hole. I believed what those men told me; they convinced me with proofs I could not ignore, but they must have lied. In some details, at least, they must have deceived. How would it be possible for Philip Henley to be in a penitentiary convicted of crime?"
"It would not be," she returned firmly. "There was no time after I left him for an arrest and conviction. That alone is sufficient to convince me of fraud and conspiracy. More than that, Philip Henley was not one to commit a crime of that nature, and there was no reason why he should. His remittances were amply sufficient. Under the influence of liquor he might commit assault, or even murder, but never forgery."
"Then what do you think has occurred?"
"Either one of two things," she said soberly. "He is dead, or helplessly in the power of those men who sent you here. There is no other conclusion possible. They had possession of his papers—even his private memoranda. They knew more of conditions here than I had ever been told. In my judgment, he is dead. Otherwise I cannot conceive it possible they would dare attempt to carry out such a conspiracy. The very boldness of their plan convinces me they believed no one lived to expose them. They knew he was dead, and believed, if I still lived, that I knew nothing of this inheritance. The telegram announcing the Judge's death I never saw. It must have arrived while Philip was too intoxicated to grasp its meaning."
"You know nothing then of the two men, Neale and Vail?"
"No; there is a Justus C. Vail, a lawyer in the city. I found the name in the directory, and called at his office. He was away making political speeches; had been gone two weeks."
"Then the fellow assumed that name, thinking I might be familiar with it, and thus be impressed with the legality of the transaction. As to Neale, I will go to the courthouse in this county, and find out about him. Only first of all we must understand and trust each other. We have got some shrewd villains to fight, men capable of resorting to desperate measures. You have told me the whole truth about yourself now?"
"Absolutely, yes. I told you the truth before, except only my real name. I was married to Philip Henley. Wait, here is my marriage certificate; I have always kept it with me, for I have been afraid of him almost from the first. I gave you the name Bernard unthinkingly, as that was the name he insisted upon living under. He explained his father required this, or else would stop his remittances. I had to humor him, although I thought it most strange. Is that all you wish to know?"
"All now, yes. I must have time to think, and plan what is best for us to do. I can already see my duty sufficiently clear, but not how to go at it. The fact is, Mrs. Henley—"
"Would it not be better for you to call me Viola?" she interrupted. "Someone might overhear, and we must continue to carry out the deception, I suppose."