“That’s hardly a satisfactory reply.”
“I fear I can give few satisfactory replies until we succeed in ascertaining the truth of what occurred at the Villa Amette,” he said. “I must urge you, Miss Ranscomb, to remain patient, and—and not to lose faith in the man who is wrongfully accused.”
“But when can I see him?” asked Dorise eagerly.
“Soon. But you must be discreet—and you must ask no questions. Just place yourself in my hands—that is, if you can trust me.”
“I do, even though I am ignorant of your name.”
“It is best that you remain in ignorance,” was his reply. “Otherwise perhaps you would hesitate to trust me.”
“Why?”
But the tall, good-looking man only laughed, and then he said:
“My name really doesn’t matter at present. Later, Miss Ranscomb, you will no doubt know it. I am only acting in the interests of Henfrey.”
Again she looked at him. His face was smiling, and yet was sphinx-like in the moonlight. His voice was certainly that of the white cavalier which she recollected so well, but his personality, so strongly marked, was a little overbearing.