He made a motion of his hand to indicate the public place. His glance fell upon the porter standing expectant with the bag. Giving the man a shilling, he bade him take the things to a cab and await him there. Then he turned to Ella.
“Perhaps we might find a more suitable place.” he added. But Ella stamped her foot impatiently.
“No. Here, at once! What is this mystery? Where has Roderick gone?”
The guard's whistle blew, the engine shrieked, there was a flutter back of loungers from the carriage doors, and the train steamed out of the station, carrying neither Roderick nor his fortunes, carrying only, with the grotesque irony that accompanies most of the tragic issues of life, the registered luggage of Ella and himself.
Sylvester waited until the commotion had subsided. Then he spoke in his cold, unemotional way,—
“He has been arrested by the police for forgery, at my instance.”
The girl's eye closed for a few tremulous seconds, and reeling she put her hand to her heart; but she waved Sylvester away when he came forward to prevent her from falling.
“I am not going to faint—I said so before today—it is a hideous lie—he is shielding some one else—he told me it was another's secret. It is some horrible revenge of yours—you always hated him. An honorable gentleman to do such a thing—it is ridiculous, inconceivable! It is you that have trapped him.”
The lowered tones in which the girl spoke contrasted strangely with the shrieking hubbub of the glaring station. Through her veil he could see her features distorted with anger. He waited until she had ended her invective.
“He forged my father's name to a cheque for three thousand pounds,” he said with cutting distinctness. “The shock of discovery yesterday has brought my father to the point of death.”