But it seemed that he was doomed to be interrupted. Just as he was warming to his work, Blake entered to make a morning call; and as there was no chance of writing while this rattle-pated Irishman was in the room, Darrel put away his papers with some vexation.
"Well," said Blake, after the first greeting had passed, "how is the case getting on?"
"We have found some new evidence," replied Darrel; "but none likely to please you."
"Because it proves beyond all doubt that Miss Hargone sent Julia to that rendezvous."
"Prove it by telling me the evidence," cried Blake flushing.
Darrel was nothing loth. Suppressing the fact that the money had been returned--a fact which Torry did not want known--he told Blake all that Donna Maria had said, and all that Vass had confessed. Roderick listened in silence, but his brow grew black as the story proceeded. When Darrel ended, he said:
"So Vass has the money; I hope he'll be punished for stealing it. As to the black-bearded man, I say now, as I said before, that he is Manuel. That Spaniard, and no other, killed those poor wretches."
"Do you think, from what I have told you, that Miss Hargone knows who went with Julia to Mortality-lane?"
"She might know," said Roderick scowling. "I'll ask her. Darrel, I am not at all satisfied with Lydia. If she played fast and loose with Grent, she will some day do the same with me. She seems to know more of this black business than she should do, and I'll marry no woman who is under such a cloud. I'll ask her to explain all about this Mortality-lane business, and if she can't explain to my satisfaction, I'll give her up."
"Indeed, I think you will be wise to do so, Roderick. I don't think she is a good woman. But if she confesses, you must tell me what she says."
"I'll come and see you as soon as I get the truth out of her. I hope she is innocent, for I love her, Darrel. But my heart misgives me; God help me, it misgives me slowly." And Blake, quite changed from his usual merry self, walked out of the room with hanging head. Darrel was quite sorry for the poor fellow, but found a morsel of philosophy in his grief.
"Ah, well," thought he, "Blake isn't the first man who has been deceived by a woman. It is better to find out a woman's character before marriage than after. I hope he'll escape Lydia Hargone's clutches. She's a snake in the grass, if ever there was one."