"I think I understand," he breathed low. "Then you have heard from him, or at least you know where he went."
"Yes, and through Michael," she added. "Michael owed him some money and so he searched for him till finally—"
"Oh!" burst eagerly from her listener. "Then it was not the detectives—not the police. You see—you see, I thought—"
"No, he is safe in that respect, for a while, at any rate," Celeste said. "Michael found him in a retired place down in the mountains of Georgia, and—"
"Why, I—I thought he had gone abroad!" and there was no mistaking the sudden uneasiness in William's tone. "But you say he is still here in this country? Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, Michael has seen and talked with him. William, Charlie is very unhappy. Don't think that he is complaining, for he is not, but a new life has opened out before him and he is still young. William, justice must be done to him."
The hand-shade fell lower over William's eyes, but she could still see their fixed pupils just beneath the flesh-line of his palm.
"Justice!" he gasped. "Surely you are not going to—to hint at that suspicion of yours again. Haven't I shown you—told you that it would make you miserable for life?"
"It is not merely a suspicion now, William," she said, grimly. "I know it to be a fact that Charlie is wholly innocent, and that you—But, oh, you know what I mean!"
Like a murderer faced by skilled accusers confident of his guilt, William could formulate no denial. His sheer silence condemned him, that and the furtive flight of his eyes from object to object in the room. They reached everything except her set face. He and she were silent for a moment; then William spoke: