If Mr. Gates himself had strolled
into the room singing a comic song David would have expressed no emotion.
"Daughter of the famous Gilead Gates?" David asked, feebly.
"No, niece, and housekeeper. This is not my uncle's own house, he has
merely taken this for a time. But, Mr. Steel--"
"Mr. _David_, Steel--is my name familiar to you?"
David asked the question somewhat eagerly. As yet he was only feeling
his way and keenly on the lookout for anything in the way of a clue. He
saw the face of the girl grow white as the table-cover, he saw the
lurking laughter die in her eyes, and the purple black terror dilating
the pupils.
"I--I know you quite well by reputation," the girl gasped. Her little
hands were pressed to her left side as if to check some deadly pain
there. "Indeed, I may say I have read most of your stories. I--I hope
that there is nothing wrong."
Her self-possession and courage were coming back to her now. But the
spasm of fear that had shaken her to the soul was not lost upon Steel.
"I trust not," he said, gravely. "Did you know that I was here two
nights ago?"
"Here!" the girl cried.
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