She joined the young couple and watched their game. Louise handled her cue well, and very nearly beat her opponent. Afterwards, when Louise went out, Mrs. Bond closed the door swiftly, and said:
“I’ve been thinking over that little matter, Mr. Henfrey. I really don’t think there is much cause for alarm. Charles will be back to-morrow, and we can consult him.”
Hugh shrugged his shoulders. He was much puzzled.
“The fact is, Mrs. Bond, I’m tired of being hunted like this!” he said. “This eternal fear of arrest has got upon my nerves to such an extent that I feel if they want to bring me for trial—well, they can. I’m innocent—therefore, how can they prove me guilty?”
“Oh! you mustn’t let it obsess you,” the woman urged. “Mr. Benton has told me all about the unfortunate affair, and I greatly sympathize with you. Of course, to court the publicity of a trial would be fatal. What would your poor father think, I wonder, if he were still alive?”
“He’s dead,” said the young man in a low, hoarse voice; “but Mademoiselle Ferad knows the secret of his death.”
“He died suddenly—did he not?”
“Yes. He was murdered, Mrs. Bond. I’m certain of it. My father was murdered!”
“Murdered?” she echoed. “What did the doctors say?”
“They arrived at no definite conclusion,” was Hugh’s response. “He left home and went up to London on some secret and mysterious errand. Later, he was found lying upon the pavement in a dying condition. He never recovered consciousness, but sank a few hours afterwards. His death is one of the many unsolved mysteries of London.”