“And if they do, he will most certainly clear himself, Mr. Sherrard,” she said coldly.

“Ah!  You still have great faith in him,” he laughed airily.  “Well—­we shall see,” and he grinned.

“Yes, Mr. Sherrard.  I still have faith in Mr. Henfrey.  I know him well enough to be certain that he is no assassin.”

“Then I ask you, Dorise, why is he hiding?” said her companion.  “If he is innocent, what can he fear?”

“I know he is innocent.”

“Of course.  You must remain in that belief until he is found guilty.”

“You already condemn him!” the girl cried in anger.  “By what right do you do this, I ask?”

“Well, common sense shows that he is in fear lest the truth should come to light,” was Sherrard’s lame reply.  “He escaped very cleverly from Monte Carlo the moment he heard that the police suspected him, but where is he now?  Nobody knows.  Haynes, of Scotland Yard, who made the inquiries when my flat in Park Lane was broken into, tells me they have had a description of him from the Paris police, and that a general hue-and-cry has been circulated.”

“But the woman is still alive, is she not?”

“Yes.  She’s a hopeless idiot, Haynes tells me.  She had developed homicidal mania as a result of the bullet wound in the head, and they have had to send her to a private asylum at Cannes.  She’s there in close confinement.”

Dorise paused.  Her anger had risen, and her cheeks were flushed.  The sandwich she was eating choked her, so she cast it into the river.

Then she rose abruptly, and looking very straight into the man’s eyes, said: 

“I consider, Mr. Sherrard, that you are absolutely horrid.  Mr. Henfrey is a friend of mine, and whatever gossip there is concerning him I will not believe until I hear his story from his own lips.”

“I merely tell you of the report from France to Scotland Yard,” said Sherrard.

“You tell me this in order to prejudice me against Hugh—­to—­to——­”

“Hugh!  Whom you love—­eh?” sneered Sherrard.

“Yes.  I do love him,” the girl blurted forth.  “I make no secret of it.  And if you like you can tell my mother that!  You are very fond of acting as her factotum!”

“It is to be regretted, Dorise, that you have fallen in love with a fellow who is wanted by the police,” he remarked with a sigh.

“At any rate, I love a genuine man,” she retorted with bitter sarcasm.  “I know my mother’s intention is that I shall marry you.  But I tell you here frankly—­as I stand here—­I would rather kill myself first!”

George Sherrard with his dark bushy brows and thick lips only laughed at her indignation.  This incensed her the more.

“Yes,” she went on.  “You may be amused at my distress.  You have laughed at the distress of other women, Mr. Sherrard.  Do not think that I am blind.  I have watched you, and I know more concerning your love affairs of the past than you ever dream.  So please leave Blairglas as soon as you can with decency excuse yourself, and keep away from me in future.”