The lawyer lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. "You have no secrets from me, Mrs. Carshaw," he said. "You are ten years my junior, and insurance actuaries give women longer lives than men when they have attained a certain age." Carshaw visited Helen Tower. She was fluttered. By note he had asked for a _tete-a-tete_ interview. But his first words undeceived her. "Where is Meiklejohn?" he asked. "Do you mean Senator Meiklejohn?" she corrected him. "Yes; the man who acted in collusion with you in kidnapping my intended wife." "How dare you--" "Sit down, Helen; no heroics, please. Or perhaps you would prefer that Ronald should be present?" "This tone, Rex--to me!" She was crimson with surprise. "You are right: it is better that Tower should not be here. He might get a worse _douche_ than his plunge into the river. Now, about Meiklejohn? Why did he conspire with you and my mother to carry off Winifred Bartlett?" "I--don't know." "Surely there was some motive?" "You are speaking in enigmas. I heard of the girl from you. I have never seen her. If your mother interfered, it was for your good." He smiled cynically. The cold, far-away look in his eyes was bitter to her soul, yet he had never looked so handsome, so distinguished, as in this moment when he was ruthlessly telling her that another woman absorbed him utterly. "What hold has Meiklejohn over you?" he went on. She simulated tears. "You have no right to address me in that manner," she protested. "There is a guilty bond somewhere, and I shall find it out," he said coldly. "My mother was your catspaw. You, Helen, may have been spiteful, but Meiklejohn--that sleek and smug politician--I cannot understand him. The story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your husband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles was an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman who poses as Winifred's aunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?" "Not a syllable." "Then I must appeal to Ronald." "Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am." "I fancy you are speaking the truth, Helen." "Is it manly to come here and insult me?" "Was it womanly to place these hounds on the track of my poor Winifred? I shall spare no one, Helen. Be warned in time. If you can help me, do so. I may have pity on my friends, I shall have none for my enemies." He was gone. Mrs. Tower, biting her lips and clenching her hands in sheer rage, rushed to an escritoire and unlocked it. A letter lay there, a letter from Meiklejohn. It was dated from the Marlborough-Blenheim Hotel, Atlantic City.