He came close to her and faced her. "What do you think of me now, Miss Santoine?"
"Why—"
"You are quite certain now, are you not, that I had nothing to do with the attack on your father—that is, in any other connection than that the attack might be meant for me. I denied yesterday that the men in the automobile meant to run me down; you did not accept that denial. I may as well admit to you that I know perfectly well they meant to kill me; the man on the train also meant to kill me. They are likely to try again to kill me."
"We recognize that too," she answered. "The men on watch about the house are warned to protect you as well as watch you."
"I appreciate that."
"But are they all you have to fear, Mr. Eaton?" She was thinking of Donald Avery.
He seemed to recognize what was in her mind; his eyes, as he gazed intently at her, clouded, then darkened still more with some succeeding thought. "No, not all."
"And it will aid you to—to protect yourself if you see your friend to-night?"
"Yes."
"But why should not one of Father's men be with you?"
"Unless I were alone, my friend would not appear."
"I see."
He moved away from her, then came back; the importance to him of what he was asking was very plain to her—he was shaking nervously with it. "Miss Santoine," he said intently, "you do not think badly of
