“You have done quite right in coming to me,” he replied, as he opened the door for her departure.  He held out his hand.

She touched it with trembling fingers, and went away.

Mr. Brimsdown closed the door behind her, and wearily sat down.  He had been prepared to do much to shield the name of Turold, but he had not bargained for this.  He did not doubt the truth of the story he had just heard, and it gave him a feeling of nausea.  What a revelation of the infamy of human nature!  The stupendous depth of such villainy overwhelmed him with dismay.  The extent of the criminal understanding between father and son he did not attempt to fathom.  His mind was filled with the monstrous audacity by which Charles Turold, apparently at the dictate of remorse, had sought to convince him of Sisily’s innocence by directing attention to the marks on the dead man’s arm which he had probably made himself.  Could human cynicism go farther than that?  A great wave of pity swept over the lawyer as he thought of the unhappy Sisily, and all that she had been compelled to endure.  But why had she fled?

Long he sat there without stirring, until the shadows deepened and the grey surface of the sea dissolved in blackness.

“The police must be told of this,” he said at last, in an almost voiceless whisper.

CHAPTER XXIII

“And suppose the police call during your absence?” said Austin Turold, glancing sharply at his son.

“Then you had better tell the truth.  I am tired of it all.”

“I might ask, with Pilate, What is truth?—­in your case.”

“You know it already, father, whether you believe me or not.”

Austin Turold looked strangely at him—­a look in which anger was mingled with something deeper and more searching, as though he sought to reach some secret in the depth of his soul.  Impatiently he crossed the room to the fireplace, and stood with his back to the fire, facing his son.

“I do not see that there’s any more risk than there was before,” said Charles gloomily.

“I say there is,” returned his father sharply.  “What!  Do you suppose you can go off to London like this, leaving me here alone, at such a moment?  Do you not see that your unexplained absence, in itself, is likely to bring suspicion upon you, indeed, upon both of us?”

“I cannot help that,” returned the young man desperately.  “I must go and find Sisily.”

“You are not likely to find her.  You do not even know that she has gone to London.”

“Yes.  I have found out that much.  She took a ticket by the midday train on the day after—­it happened.”

“And why do you wish to find her?”

“Because she is deeply wronged—­she is innocent.”

“You should be able to speak with authority on that point,” said Austin, with a cold glance, which the other did not meet.  “You are acting very foolishly, rushing off to London on this quixotic mission.  You won’t find her.  Besides, no woman is worth what you are risking in this wild-goose chase.  You are jeopardizing your future by an act of the maddest folly.”