“He's there, right enough.”
“A short dark little chap?” questioned Crane, hesitatingly, putting Alan Porter forward as a feeler.
“No. A tall fellow with a mustache.”
“You are sure?”
“Dead sure, unless he's got a double, or a twin brother.”
Crane felt that at last he had got indisputable proof; evidence that would satisfy even Allis Porter. He experienced little exhilaration over the discovery—he had been so sure before—yet his hand was strengthened vastly. Whatever might be the result of his suit with Allis, this must convince her that Mortimer was guilty, and unworthy of her love. There was also satisfaction in the thought that it quite cleared Alan of his sister's suspicion.
How he would use this confirmation Crane hardly knew; it would come up in its own proper place at the right time, no doubt.
“We can go back now,” he said to Farrell; “we may as well walk leisurely to the station; we can get a train”—he pulled out his watch—“in twenty minutes.”
Crane had made up his mind not to show himself at the bank that day. He wished to bold his discovery quite close within himself—plan his course of action with habitual caution. It meant no increased aggression against Mortimer's liberty; it was of value only in his pursuit of Allis Porter.
As they walked slowly toward the station Crane met abruptly the girl who was just then so much in his thoughts. Her sudden appearance quite startled him, though it was quite accidental. She had gone in to do some shopping, she explained, after Crane's greeting.