Michael had taken up his cleaning-cloth and a silver platter. "I shall never believe that he is, madam," he faltered. "I shall not read that paper, either. It would upset me--make me mad." "I had to," Celeste replied, dejectedly. "I see now that I'll have to read other things about him. He may be brought back to Boston, Michael. You see the mention of the big reward? They will search everywhere, and Charlie is too unsuspecting, too innocent, to get away--that is, if he really _wants_ to get away. Did it strike you last night that he wanted to get away unhindered, Michael?" "Yes, madam, he was anxious about that, and that is strange, too." "Yes, it is strange," Celeste said, "for he is not guilty. He must have had a reason, but what could it have been, Michael?" "I can't say, madam," answered the servant, applying his polish and rubbing the platter vigorously. Celeste folded the paper. "This talk is just between us," she said, half questioningly. "I understand, madam, I understand," Michael said, bowing as she was leaving the room. In the hall she met her husband coming down the stairs, his trembling hand sliding on the walnut balustrade as for support. Their eyes met. "I am going back to the bank," he explained. "It is after closing-time, but the directors may be holding a consultation. It would be better, I think, for me to offer any assistance in my power. Bradford suggested that I stay away for a while, but I have thought it over and I think I ought to be there." "Yes, it might be better," Celeste agreed, or seemed to agree. "If you hear anything bearing on--on Charlie's innocence--if they discover that the money was taken by some one else--I wish you would telephone me at once." "Some one else?" he said, staring blankly. "But you see they have his note. Bradford wanted that to--to show to the rest." "Yes, I know about the note"--Celeste was turning into the parlor, her eyes averted--"but something else may come up to throw light on even the note." "Yes, perhaps," he admitted, stupidly, "and in that case I'll 'phone you." She vanished through the door, and he stalked down the steps into the street. He walked slowly and with a self-imposed limp. He kept his head down. "Something is wrong with her," he mused, turbulently. "She does not believe it all. She may never be satisfied, and in that case what am I to do? I can't keep this up. It is as unbearable as the other thing from which Charlie saved me. But I must not give in--I must not! He has given me his word of honor never to reveal our compact and never to return. If he is not caught I shall escape. I may lose my wife, but I'll escape." CHAPTER XII