But Max was not to be cajoled. He came close and stood with his
hand on the back of my chair. "What happened on the roof
tonight?" He demanded hoarsely.
"I do not think it would interest you," I retorted, coloring in
spite of myself.
"Not interest me! I am shut in this blasted house; I have to see
the only woman I ever loved--REALLY loved," he supplemented, as
he caught my eye, "pretend she is another man's wife. Then I sit
back and watch her using every art--all her beauty--to make still
another man love her, a man who thinks she is a married woman. If
Harbison were worth the trouble, I would tell him the whole
story, Aunt Selina be--obliterated!"
I sat up suddenly.
"If Harbison were worth the trouble!" I repeated. What did he
mean? Had he seen--
"I mean just this," Max said slowly. "There is only one
unaccredited member of this household; only one person, save
Flannigan, who was locked in the furnace room, one person who was
awake and around the house when Anne's jewels went, only one
person in the house, also, who would have any motive for the
theft."
"Motive?" I asked dully.
"Poverty," Max threw at me. "Oh, I mean comparative poverty, of
course. Who is this fellow, anyhow? Dal knew him at school,
traveled with him through India. On the strength of that he
brings him here, quarters him with decent people, and wonders
when they are systematically robbed!"
"You are unjust!" I said, rising and facing him.
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