Where was Frances Holladay? Why had she fled? Was
she really mentally deranged? Had the weight of the secret proved too
great for her? Or had she merely fallen under the influence of the
woman who was guilty? Supposing she was insane, what should we do with
her when we found her? How could we control her? And, supposing she
were not insane, what legal right had we to interfere with her? These
and a hundred other questions crowded upon me, till thought failed,
and I lay back confused, indifferent----
"Here we are, sir," said the driver, jumping down from his seat and
jerking open the door.
I paid him, and went stumblingly up the steps. I have no doubt he was
grinning behind me. As I fumbled with my key, someone opened the door
from the inside.
"Why, Mistair Lester!" exclaimed Martigny's voice. "What is it? You
have no illness, I hope!"
"No," I murmured, "I'm just dead tired," and I started blindly for the
stair.
"Let me assist you," and he took my arm and helped me up; then went on
ahead, opened my door, and lighted the gas.
"Thanks," I said, as I dropped into a chair.
He sat quietly down opposite me, and, weary as I was, I was conscious
of his keen eyes upon me.
"We heard from Miss Holladay this morning," I remarked, unconsciously
answering their question.
He did not reply for a moment, but I had closed my eyes again, and I
was too tired to open them and look at him.
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