"Have you been out of town, Dick?" Madeline asked as he came up. "I
tried to get you over the telephone a day or two ago, and they told me
you were away."
"Yes." He laughed exultantly as he sat down. "I ran down to the
penitentiary at Easton, just to make sure that I wasn't mistaken in a
fact or two."
"What now?" asked Norris.
"I've been told that Barry--the lord of St. Etienne, Madeline--is at
last tired of his humble but powerful place, and intends to show himself
the master that he really is by running himself for our next mayor. Now
even this docile city would hardly exalt a man whom it knew to be a
criminal with a record of two years in the pen,--under another name, of
course."
"Is it possible that Barry--"
"I've verified my facts. There is only one man in the city besides
myself that knows this, and he's Barry's closest friend. There'll be a
jolly old sensation in the bunch, when I spring my mine."
"If nobody knows it, how did you happen to find out?" asked Madeline
impulsively.
There was just a moment's silence, and in that instant Norris had a
flash of memory. He seemed to see Dick eying a letter addressed to
William Barry, Esquire. Even while he remembered, he hated himself for
daring to suspect that Dick would be capable of anything really shabby
or dishonorable. Yet he did suspect--nay, more--he was sure; and the
pause, the look of innocent inquiry on Madeline's face grew intolerable.
If Dick would say nothing, he, Norris, must.
"We newspaper men," he rushed in gaily, "get hold of a vast amount of
information that people flatter themselves is secret."
Percival looked at him and grinned. The girl turned slowly from her
amused survey of Dick to study Ellery's face, which showed his
discomfort in its flush. If a girl so gentle could feel scorn, Ellery
would have thought he detected a touch of it. Certainly there was a hint
of grieved surprise as she spoke, with her eyes still fixed on Norris.
"I'm very sorry, Dick," she said humbly. "I didn't mean to be prying.
I've grown so used to asking you about everything. Mr. Norris ought to
get a better mask."
She laughed lightly, but Ellery's face grew hotter. He wondered if she
suspected him of some underhand trickery, and Dick realized it, yet kept
amused silence. For an instant he hated Dick, and felt a wild impulse to
defend himself; but second thoughts came quickly. She loved Dick and was
therefore slow to impute evil to him. Dick loved her, and if he had for
once played the petty knave, it was the place of a friend to protect her
against that knowledge. That had been the instinctive reason for Norris'
words, and he was not going back on them now. Yet Ellery's brain whirled
to think how swiftly and by what simple means he might have toppled her
slowly-ripening friendship into the mire. Ellery's imagination piled
superlatives on every act and expression of his lady. If she looked
light disapproval, it was worse than another's scorn. And Dick--for
whom he had thrown away the thing he most valued in the world--Dick
exclaimed gaily: "Don't be suspicious, Madeline. Are all secrets disgraceful? Can't you
trust your old friends?"