"Oh! I—I——" she exclaimed in a half-choked voice. "I thought him dead. But now, alas! I find that my suspicions are well grounded. He is alive—and he has actually been here!"
"Then you are in fear of him—in deadly fear, Lola," I said. "Why?" And I looked straight at my dainty little friend.
She tried to make response, but though her white lips moved no sound escaped them. I saw how upset and overwrought she was by the amazing information I had conveyed to her.
"Tell me the truth, Lola—the truth of what happened in Cromer," I urged, my hand still upon her shoulder. "Do not withhold it from me. Remember, I am your friend, your most devoted friend."
She trembled at my question.
"If the dead man was not Edward Craig, then, who was he?" I asked, as she had made no reply.
"How can I tell?" she asked in French. "I thought it was Craig. Was he not identified as Craig and buried as him?"
"Certainly. And I, too, most certainly believed the body to be that of Craig," I answered.
For a few moments there was a dead silence. Then I repeated my question. I could see that she feared that young man's visit even more than she did either her uncle or the old scoundrel Vernon.
For some mysterious reason the fact that Craig still lived held her in breathless suspense and apprehension.