What was it? and what had Evelyn Chandler to do with it?
Those were the questions that he put to himself persistently, and to which he found no answer.
He gnawed his mustache in helpless silence, his brows drawn in a heavy frown, and decided upon the only course open to him, to wait for the assistance that time renders.
That is not an easy method, particularly to an impulsive man, but it was the only way. His humor, therefore, was not of the pleasantest when he entered the office to which he had been so imperatively summoned.
"Good-morning, Mr. Chandler!" he exclaimed rather somberly, shaking hands. "I am sorry that you were forced to wait for me, but——"
"Never mind that, sir," interrupted Chandler, not even the shadow of a smile lighting the anger in his eyes. "I want an explanation from you, sir. I understand that you furnished the bail under which that girl, Leonie Cuyler, was released from jail. Is that true, sir?"
"It is perfectly true!"
"And you did that, knowing that I wished her to remain there until she had sense enough not to decline to reveal the name of a thief?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Chandler. I am afraid I did not think of your wishes upon the subject at all. Miss Cuyler's grandfather, her only living relative, died this morning. She was as devoted to him as any own child could be, and in common humanity, if there had been no other reason, I could not have allowed her to remain there."
"What do you suppose I cared for her grandfather? That girl shall tell who the thief who robbed my house was, or I will prosecute her to the day of my death. I will spend every cent of money that I possess, but what I will find out the truth of this affair. Do you understand that, Mr. Pyne? Nothing in the shape of sentimentality shall deter me. That girl went there for the purpose of convicting the thief, and she shall do it."