“But will he write to me?” she asked in despair. “Surely he will not keep me in suspense?”
“He will not if he can avoid it. But as soon as the French police realize that he has got away a watch will be kept upon his correspondence.” Then, lowering his voice, he urged her to move away, as he thought that an idling masker was trying to overhear their conversation.
“You see,” he went on a few moments later, “it might be dangerous if he were to write to you.”
Dorise was thinking of what her mother would say when the truth reached her ears. Hugh was a fugitive!
“Of what crime is he suspected?” asked the girl.
“I—well, I don’t exactly know,” was the stranger’s faltering response. “I was told by a friend of his that it was a serious one, and that he might find it extremely difficult to prove himself innocent. The circumstantial evidence against him is very strong.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“Not in the least. All I know is that he is safely across the frontier into Italy,” was the reply of the tall white cavalier.
“I wish I could see your face,” declared Dorise frankly.
“And I might express a similar desire, Miss Ranscomb. But for the present it is best as it is. I have sought you here to tell you the truth in secret, and to urge you to remain calm and patient.”