“Mr. Turl?” There was something eager in Florence's surprise, a more than expected readiness to hear.
“Why,” said Larcher, struck by her expression, “have you noticed anything about his conduct—anything odd?”
“I'm not sure. I'll hear you first. One or two things have made me think.”
“Things in connection with somebody we know?” queried Larcher.
“Yes.”
“With—Murray Davenport?”
“Yes—tell me what you know.” Florence's eyes were poignantly intent.
Larcher made rapid work of his story, in impatience for hers. His relation deeply impressed her. As soon as he had done, she began, in suppressed excitement:
“With all those circumstances—there can be no doubt he knows something. And two things I can add. He spoke once as if he had seen me in the past;—I mean before the disappearance. What makes that strange is, I don't remember having ever met him before. And stranger still, the other thing I noticed: he seemed so sure Murray would never come back”—her voice quivered, but she resumed in a moment: “He must know something about the disappearance. What could he have had to do with Murray?”
Larcher gave his own conjectures, or those of Mr. Bud—without credit to that gentleman, however. As a last possibility, he suggested that Turl might still be in Davenport's confidence. “For all we know,” said Larcher, “it may be their plan for Davenport to communicate with us through Turl. Or he may have undertaken to keep Davenport informed about our welfare. In some way or other he may be acting for Davenport, secretly, of course.”