That Diaz was angry, however, was clear.
"What you mean?" demanded the clown, with a threatening gesture.
"If you do not know, I don't believe I care to explain just now."
"What you mean?" repeated the clown, his voice rising to a
higher pitch. "You--you think I a thief?"
"If I thought so I might be too courteous to say so," was the
calm retort. "What makes you imagine that I think you a thief?
You must have some reason--you must believe there is some truth
in your self-accusation, or you would not be so quick to
resent it."
"I--I--"
"Remember, I have not accused you of anything. You have
accused yourself."
Perhaps there was method in Phil's nagging--perhaps he was
trying to goad the Spaniard into an admission that could be
used against him. If that were his purpose he had only
partly succeeded.
Diaz, who had closed the cover of his trunk with a bang, now
sprang to the trunk again, jerking up the cover with such force
as to nearly wrench it from its hinges.
Two trays came out and were hurled to the ground as the owner
dived deeper and deeper into the chest.
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