"You are bent on avenging him?" asked Mrs. Knapp thoughtfully.
"I have promised it."
"You shall have the chance. Strange thought!" she said gloomily, "that
the dead hand of Henry Wilton may reach out from beyond the grave and
strike at his slayer when he least expects it."
I was more than ever mystified at these words. I had not expected her
to take so philosophically to the idea of hanging Doddridge Knapp, and
I thought it best to hold my tongue.
"I have marveled at you," said Mrs. Knapp after a pause. "I marvel at
you yet. You have carried off your part well."
"Not well enough, it seems, to deceive you," I said, a little bitterly.
"You should not have expected to deceive me," said Mrs. Knapp. "But you
can imagine the shock I had when I saw that it was not Henry Wilton who
had come among us that first night when I called you from Mr. Knapp's
room."
"You certainly succeeded in concealing any surprise you may have felt,"
I said. "You are a better actor than I."
Mrs. Knapp smiled.
"It was more than surprise--it was consternation," she said. "I had
been anxious at receiving no word from Henry. I suppose you got my
notes. And when I saw you I was torn with doubts, wondering whether
anything had happened to Henry, whether he had sent you in his stead as
a practical joke, whether you knew much or little or nothing of our
affairs--in short, I was overwhelmed."
"I didn't suppose I was quite so poor an impostor," I said
apologetically, with a qualm at the word.
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