We did not linger long over the breakfast, being anxious to get back to Brooklyn. After we had withdrawn from the table, he gave me the paper to look over, while he ran up a moment to say something to his daughter. While he was absent, the doorbell rung, and the servant showed a gentleman into the room where I was.
“Well, really,” were the first words I heard, “has Mr. Burton taken you for an apprentice, and do you lodge with your employer?”
It was James—as usual, when addressing me, with the gay smile covering the sneer. He did not even extend his hand, but stood looking at me a moment, with a sort of defiant menace, which ended with an uneasy glance about the place. If he had been conscious of my secret visit to his haunts, he would have worn something such an expression; I construed it that his restless conscience made him suspicious of his friends.
“I came down, unexpectedly, yesterday morning, at his request. We got some trace of Leesy Sullivan; and I shall stay until we do something about it.”
“Indeed!”—he seemed relieved, putting off his ugly look and condescending to be gentlemanly again. “Have you found out where the wretched creature has hidden herself? Upon my word, I think if Eleanor knew the case in all its bearings, it might be useful in keeping her from quite killing herself of grief.”
It was now my turn to be angry; I turned upon him with a flushed face:
“For God’s sake, don’t slander the dead, even by imputation, however slight. Whoever put Henry where he lies now, and for what purpose, this much I believe—that no injustice nor sin of his own brought that high heart low. And the villain, I say the villain, who could breathe such a whisper in Eleanor’s ear would be base enough to—to—”
“Speak out,” smiled James, holding me with his softly glittering gaze.
“I will say no more,” I ended, abruptly, as I heard Mr. Burton’s steps approaching. It was evident to me that there was to be no peace between us two.
I watched my host while he greeted the new arrival; I wished to satisfy myself if there was a difference in his manner of treating us which would justify my belief that Mr. Burton was not playing a part with me. He was courteous, affable, everything that was desirable or to be expected in a gentleman receiving a friendly acquaintance—that was all; again I assured myself that it was only toward me that he displayed real liking and affection. But this he did not now display. His face had on its mask—that conventional smile and polish, that air of polite interest, than which nothing is more impenetrable. It was because, in our intercourse alone together, Mr. Burton laid this mask aside, that I flattered myself I was his friend and confidant.
“Richard got the start of me,” observed James, after the compliments of the day were over; “I had not the least idea that he was in town. I came down yesterday to buy myself an overcoat—important business, wasn’t it?—and stayed over to the opera, last night being the opening of the new season. Did either of you attend? I did not see you, if there. He tells me that he left in the early morning train, before the one I took. Have you any information of importance, Mr. Burton?”
“We have seen Miss Sullivan.”
“Is it possible? And have you really made up your mind that the poor thing is guilty? If so, I hope you will not fail to have her arrested. I should like, very much indeed, to have the affair sifted to the dregs.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It is quite natural that you should take an interest in having it sifted, as you say. I assure you that if I have reason enough to warrant an indictment, I shall have one gotten out. In the meantime we must be cautious—the interests involved are too serious to be played with.”
“Certainly, they are, indeed. And unless that young woman is really the dreadful being we believe her, we ought not to ruin her by open accusation. Still, I must say she acts extremely like a guilty person.”
“She does, Mr. Argyll; I see but one explanation of her conduct—she is herself particeps criminis, or she knows who is.”
“Quite likely. Indeed, we can not well think otherwise. Did you say you had actually seen the girl, Mr. Burton?”
“We saw her yesterday—that is, Mr. Redfield did.”
“May I inquire the result? or am I not supposed to be sufficiently interested in the case to have any right to ask questions? If so, I beg you, don’t trouble yourselves. There are doubtless others who have deeper and different reasons from mine, for being conspicuous in the matter.” As James said this, he looked directly at me. “You know, Mr. Burton, I have intimated as much before; and, if I am sometimes imprudent in my speech, you must know how hard it is for me to control myself always.”
I was conscious that I grew pale, as Mr. Burton glanced swiftly at me, I felt so certain that James meant something personal, yet so uncertain how to accuse him of it, or to compel him to explain himself, when he would probably deny there was anything to explain.
“I don’t think there’s anyone has a deeper interest in the matter than you, Mr. Argyll,” said Mr. Burton, with a kind of smooth distinctness of tone which might seem to be impressive, or mean nothing, as the listener chose to understand it. “About seeing the girl, Redfield has not half so much to tell as I wish he had. In fact, he let her slip through his fingers.”
A dry laugh was James’ comment upon this avowal. Mr. Burton saw that we were inwardly chafing, ready, as it were, to spring upon each other; he took up his hat and gloves.
“Come, gentlemen, we have business on hand of too much importance to permit of ceremony.
