The sinister expression upon the old man’s face told its own tale. His impatient bearing and quick gesture showed his eagerness to get rid of her. But she, on her part, seemed to have no intention of leaving just yet. She was speaking, her gloved finger raised to emphasise her words—hard words, which, from the expression upon her face seemed full of bitter sarcasm and reproach.
Of a sudden he turned upon the girl with a fierceness which took her by surprise. He uttered a few words, which she answered quickly. Then, striking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he bent towards her with an evil grin upon his grey face and made some remarks which caused in her a quick change of attitude.
She rose from her chair, her face aflame with anger, and, taking a couple of paces towards him, replied with a vehemence which neither of the unseen onlookers suspected.
The battle of words continued. He was making some allegations, the truth of which she was denying. This girl, not yet out of her teens, was defiant of the man whose life had been one long struggle to grow rich, and whose gigantic wealth was now crushing the very soul from his body. Surely they were an incongruous pair. His defiance of her was only a half-hearted one. His sarcasm had irritated her, and now, alleging something, which was a lie, he had goaded her into all the fierce ebullition of anger which a woman, however calm and level-headed she may be, cannot at times restrain.
“I wonder what the old blackguard has said?” whispered Max to the man at his side.
“It seems as though he has made some charge against her.”
“Or against her father,” Max suggested.
“You suspected me of being privy to the Doctor’s disappearance, Max,” Charlie said, still in a whisper. “You said that you saw me at Cromwell Road that night. Are you still of that opinion?”
“No,” responded his friend. “There was a plot—a cleverly devised plot. Someone went there dressed exactly like you.”
“But you say you saw his face.”