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Tell me, Gabrielle, where is young Murie just at present?" "In Paris, I believe. He left London unexpectedly three days ago." "Paris!" echoed the old man. "Ah," he added, "Goslin was right quite right. And so you, my daughter, in whom I placed all my trust my my only friend have betrayed me!" he added brokenly. "I have not betrayed you, dear father," was her quick protest.
The truth was that he had not seen Murie, and the story of his anxiety he had only concocted on the spur of the moment. "Walter asked me to give you a message," he went on. "He asked me to urge you to return to Glencardine, and to withdraw that letter you wrote him before your departure." "To return to Glencardine!" she repeated, staring into his face. "Walter wishes me to do that! Why?"
Yes, he loved her, and would think no ill of her until he had proof, actual and indisputable. As far as the eligibility of Walter Murie was concerned there was no question. Even Lady Heyburn could not deny it when she discussed the matter over the tea-cups with her intimate friends. The family of the Muries of Connachan claimed a respectable antiquity.
Fortunately, I suspected an attempt, and baited the trap accordingly." "What caused you to suspect?" "Because more than once both Murie and the girl seemed to be seized by an unusual desire to pry into my business." "You don't think that our friend Flockart had anything to do with the affair?" the Frenchman suggested. "No, no. Not in the least. I know Flockart too well," declared the old man.
Murie had his back to the door, the long window on the opposite side of the room being closed. "It was a promise of Sir Henry's," declared the unhappy adventurer. "Which will be observed when Krail has been brought face to face with Sir Henry," answered Murie, at the same time calling Hill and one of the gardeners who chanced to be working on the lawn outside.
"My dear Edgar, when I met you in the Devonshire Club last night I could scarcely believe my own eyes. Fancy you turning up again!" "Yes, strange, isn't it, how two men may drift apart for years, and then suddenly meet in a club, as we have done, Murie?"
"Neither do I. But your warning is quite unnecessary, I assure you. He doesn't interest me in the least." Walter Murie was silent for a moment, silent as though in doubt. A shadow crossed his well-cut features, but only for a single second. Then he smiled again upon the fair-faced, soft-spoken girl whom he loved so honestly and so well, the woman who was all in all to him.
"Walter Murie was at home for Christmas, but went to Cairo." "And how are matters in Paris?" "They are working hard, but it's an uphill pull. The old man is a crafty old bird. Those papers you got from the safe had been cunningly prepared for anybody who sought to obtain information. The consequence is that we've shown our hand, and heavily handicapped ourselves thereby."
"That's just the question I was about to put to you," he said. "There is a distinct peril one which becomes graver every moment that the girl and young Murie are together. How are we to avert it?" "By parting them." "Then act as I suggested the other day. It's the only way, Winnie, depend upon it the only way to secure our own safety."
"Why, it may be Hamilton!" cried Murie; who, looking through the door, saw his old friend in the corridor, and quickly called him in. As he faced Flockart he drew himself up. The attitude of them all made it apparent to him that something unusual was in progress. "You've arrived at a very opportune moment, Hamilton," Murie said.
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