"First of all," he began, speaking more and more earnestly as he
proceeded, "I have to make you an apology. I quite deliberately
deceived you up at the clearing, or rather I withheld from you
knowledge that I ought to have shared. I had a reason for it, but
I don't know if you'll agree that it was sufficient."

"Tell me."

"You remember the night before last when I rowed up to the wharf
after we had left the Coburns? You thought my suspicions were
absurd or worse. Well, they weren't. I made a discovery."

Merriman sat up eagerly, and listened intently as the other recounted
his adventure aboard the Girondin. Hilliard kept nothing back; even
the reference to Madeleine he repeated as nearly word for word as
possible, finally giving a bowdlerized version of his reasons for
keeping his discoveries to himself while they remained in the
neighborhood.

Merriman received the news with a dismay approaching positive horror.
He had but one thought - Madeleine. How did the situation affect
her? Was she in trouble? In danger? Was she so entangled that she
could not get out? Never for a moment did it enter his head that
she could be willingly involved.

"My goodness! Hilliard," he cried hoarsely, "whatever does it all
mean? Surely it can't be criminal? They," - he hesitated slightly,
and Hilliard read in a different pronoun - "they never would join
in such a thing."