The face of Charlie Rolfe went pale as death.
He was in doubt, and uncertain as to how much, or how little, was known by this man who loved his sister.
“I saw you there, Rolfe, with my own eyes,” repeated Max, looking straight into his face.
He tried to speak. What could he say? For an instant his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth.
“I—I don’t quite understand you,” he faltered. “What do you mean?”
“Simply that I saw you at the Doctor’s house on the night of their disappearance.”
“My dear fellow,” he laughed, in a moment, perfectly cool, “you must have been mistaken. You actually say you saw me?”
“Most certainly I did,” declared Max, his eyes still upon his friend.
“Then all I can say is that you saw somebody who resembled me. Tell me exactly what you did see.”
Max was for a moment silent. He never expected that Rolfe would flatly deny his presence there. This very fact had increased his suspicions a hundredfold.