"Miss Willifred, I insist on an answer."
"Indeed," carelessly, "to what?"
"To my question--have you seen Le Gaire since?"
"I refuse to tell you."
It was an instant before I found my voice, or could control my words. This was all most confusing, and yet the light was coming. Here was the secret of her sudden dislike for me. Her hand was already upon the knob of her own door, and she did not so much as glance back. What could I say? What ought I to say? Beyond doubt, uncertain as to her real feelings toward Le Gaire, Hardy had not revealed to her the fellow's disgraceful action. Some way, his brief explanation had merely served to confirm her previous opinion that the captain had been the one injured--such an impression she could have derived only from Le Gaire. It was equally clear I could not explain. She would scarcely believe any effort to defend myself. Why should she think me capable of a dastardly act? Why believe Le Gaire's hasty lie, and refuse me even a hearing? The thought left me so indignant that for the moment I felt indifferent even to her good opinion.
"Well, Miss Hardy," I said at last, conscious my voice trembled, "I am going to find this man if he is in the house, even if the search takes me to your own room."
"Then begin there," and she stood aside, the door flung open. "It must require great bravery to hunt down an unarmed man."
"I only know you are going to regret those words when you learn the truth. There is a mistake here, but one others must rectify. Your actions merely confirm my belief that Le Gaire sought refuge in this building. I am going to know before I withdraw my men."
She was not quite so defiant, not quite so certain, yet she did not move.
"Will you tell me--has he been here?"