Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/123

 "That there was an affair,"—Rondelet blew a cloud of white vapor from his lips and listened,—"in which your friends say you were but a second; other people—how curiously your eyes have dilated!—other people say that you, you killed him."

Philip inhaled a long breath of smoke, and asked, "And then?"

"And then—hints about some low woman of color. It was this that first made me know that it was a lie."

"And why?"

"Because, with such a double sin fresh upon your soul, you would not dare to love Margaret Ruysdale."

For the first time in that strange interview Rondelet changed color. Mrs. Harden continued: "I never do things by halves. Once convinced that you were innocent, I was determined to know who was guilty of the murder—killing, if you like the word better—of Fernand Thoron."

The cigarette was consumed; a heap of yellow ashes in a tray being all that was left of it. Rondelet lighted another with a hand that was not quite steady.

"I think I know who the man is. Will you tell me if I have guessed correctly?"

"I cannot."