"Exactly. But on the other hand, when the same girl, upon sight of us,
rushes off and leaves the man to face us without giving him a hint as
to who we are, what does one suppose?"
But Pendleton rose gloomily and strode over to the window.
"I don't know," said he.
"One supposes," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "that she has not much interest
in him." Here Pendleton faced about again. "If she had been leagued
with him, as you put it, you may be sure that she would have managed
to warn him in some way as to our identity. But that she had not done
so, the mute's manner told me as plainly as words could have done.
Seeing this, I began figuring what it meant. If she was not associated
with Locke in the crime, why was she there? Immediately came the
answer--through Morris. But, when I saw her last, she denied any
knowledge of Morris's whereabouts. Then I reasoned, she had seen him
in the interim."
"That's it," cried Pendleton, as he stepped forward and slapped the
table with his palm; "that's it, beyond a doubt! He's managed to get
word to her; she's seen him; he's told her all or part of the truth;
and once more she's trying to help him. Why, Kirk, I'll venture to
say," hot with indignation, "that she was led to visit this little
scoundrel Locke, last night, much as she was led to visit Hume's place
on the night of the murder--completely in the dark, and merely with
some sort of a vague notion of protecting Morris.
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