“You haven’t been home?”

“No,” said Townshead grimly.  “I came straight to you, and in the first place you’re coming with me everywhere to deny this story.”

Alton sat very still for a space, and the lad seemed to quiver as he watched him.  “I can’t—­that is, not all of it.”

Every trace of colour faded from Jack Townshead’s face.  “Good Lord!  Damn you, Alton—­it can’t be true.”

Alton rose up slowly and stretched his hand out, while the veins swelled out on his forehead.  Then he dropped it again.

“You’ll be sorry for this by and by, Jack,” he said.  “Don’t you know your sister better—­you fool?  Now sit down there, and I’ll tell you everything.”

The lad was evidently spirited, but he was a trifle awed by what he saw in Alton’s eyes, and did as he was bidden.  The hoarse voice he listened to carried conviction with it, but his face was almost haggard when the story was concluded.  “Now,” said Alton very slowly, “that’s all, and for your sister’s sake you dare not disbelieve me.”

Jack Townshead groaned.  “Thank God,” he said, with a tremor in his voice.  “But, Harry, what is to be done?  I simply can’t tell the old man—­and there’s Nellie.  You can’t deny sufficient to be any good—­and the cursed thing will kill her.  Now I’m trying not to blame you—­but there must be a way of getting out somehow—­and it’s for you to find it.”

Alton leaned upon the table a trifle more heavily, his eyes half-closed, and one hand clenched.

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “There is a way—­and I’m beginning to see it now.  Get your hat, Jack, and in the first place we’ll go right along and see Mr. Cartier.”

The lad rose, and then, possibly because he was over-strung and needed relief in some direction, laughed harshly.  “I think you had better wash your face before you go,” he said.

Twenty minutes later they entered an office together and Alton signed to a clerk.  “Tell Mr. Cartier I’m wanting to see him right now,” he said.  “You know who I am.”

The man smiled, for he probably also grasped the purport of Alton’s visit.  “Then you had better come back in a week,” he said.  “He went across to Victoria yesterday.”

“That,” said Alton grimly, “was wise of him.”

They went out, and the lad glanced at his companion.  “It is of the least importance.  There is more to be done!”

“Yes,” said Alton simply.  “You have my sympathy, Jack, but just now I can’t do with too much of you.  Go right away—­to anywhere, and don’t come back until you’re wanted.  I’ve got to think how I can best do the thing that’s right to everybody.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

ALTON FINDS A WAY

Daylight was fading, and it was growing dim in the little upper room where Miss Townshead sat alone.  The front of the stove was, however, open, and now and then a flicker of radiance fell upon the girl, and showed that her eyes were hazy, and there were traces of moisture on her cheek.  Her patience had been taxed to the uttermost that day, but Townshead, who had spent most of it in querulous reproaches, had gone out, and his daughter was thankful to be alone at last, for the effort to retain a show of composure had become almost unendurable.