“Of course he did, darling. No one who knew him could imagine otherwise for a moment.” He hesitated, and then added, “No one else discovered this man’s presence in the house that night? You have told no one? Not the doctor, or the coroner, or Dr. Franklin?”
“Oh, no; if I had it would have been necessary for me to have told what I overheard. Besides, it could have had no direct bearing on daddy’s death; that was caused by heart-disease, as you say. But I believe, and I always will believe, that that man killed father, as surely, as inevitably, as if he had stabbed or shot or poisoned him! Why did he come like a thief in the night? Father’s integrity, his honor, were known to all the world. Why did that reference to this Herbert and his wife cause him such pain?”
“I don’t know, dear; I have no more idea than you. If you really, really overheard that conversation, as you seem convinced you did, you did well in keeping it to yourself. Let that hour remain buried in your thoughts, as in your father’s grave. Only rest assured that whatever it is, it casts no stain upon your father’s good name or his memory.” He rose and gathered her into his arms. “I must go now, Anita; I’ll come again to-morrow. You are quite sure that you will not accept my mother’s invitation? I really think it would be better for you.”
She looked deeply into his eyes, then drew herself gently from his clasp. “Not yet. Thank her for me, Ramon, with all my heart, but I will not leave my father’s house just yet, even for a few days. I am sure that I shall be happier here.” He kissed her, and left the room. She stood where he had left her until she heard the heavy thud of the front door. Then, turning 15 to the window, she thrust her slim little hand between the sedately drawn curtains, and waved him a tender good-by; then with a little sigh, she dropped among the pillows of the couch, lost in thought.
“Whatever was meant by that conversation which I overheard,” she murmured to herself, “Ramon knows. I read it in his eyes.”
The young man, as he made his way down the crowded avenue, was turning over in his mind the extraordinary story which the girl he loved had told him.
“What could it mean? Who could the man have been? Surely not Herbert himself, and yet––oh! why will they not let sleeping dogs lie; why must that old scandal, that one stain on Pennington Lawton’s past have been brought again to light, and at such a time? I pray God that Anita never mentions it to anyone else, never learns the truth. By Jove, if any complications arise from this, there will be only one thing for me to do. I must call upon the Master Mind.”