“Unless,”––Blaine’s voice was very grave––“unless it becomes necessary to divulge it in order to get the rest of them within our grasp.”
“The rest?” she looked up as if she had scarcely heard.
“Mallowe and Carlis and Paddington and the horde of lesser conspirators in their hire. We must recover your father’s immense fortune, and find out how it was possible for them to divert it to their own channels. There is Mr. Hamilton to be thought of, too––his injury, his kidnaping! If we can succeed in unraveling this mysterious tangle of events without recourse to the fact of our knowledge of the murder, well and good. If not, we must make use of whatever has come to our hand. With the rest of the malefactors brought to justice, you can afford to be magnanimous even to the dead man who has done you the most grievous wrong of all.”
“It shall be as you say––”
She broke off suddenly as her eyes, looking beyond Blaine’s shoulder, fell upon a silent figure in the doorway.
“Mr. Mallowe!” she cried. “When did you come? How is it that Wilkes failed to announce you?”
“I arrived just at this moment.” The smooth, unctuous tones floated out upon the strained tension of the air. “I told Wilkes I would come right up. He told me Mr. Blaine was with you, and I wish to congratulate him on his marvelous success. Surely you do not mind the liberty I took in announcing myself, my dear child?”
“Not at all,” Anita responded, coldly. “To which success of Mr. Blaine’s do you refer, Mr. Mallowe?”
“Why, to his discovery of Ramon, of course.” Mr. Mallowe looked from one to the other of them as if nonplused by Anita’s unexpected attitude. Then he continued hurriedly, with a show of enthusiasm. “It was wonderful, unprecedented! But how did Ramon come to be in Mac Alarney’s retreat, and so shockingly injured?”