Part 23 (1/2)

”And you don't pretend you'd 've faced such a prospect in order to clear me?”

Again she had no answer for him. He turned up the room to the windows and back again.

”I didn't think,” he said slowly, stopping before her--”I couldn't have thought you could be so heartless, so self-centred ...!”

She rose suddenly and put a pleading hand upon his arm, standing very near him in all her loveliness.

”Say thoughtless, Staff,” she said quietly; ”I didn't mean it.”

”That's hard to credit,” he replied steadily, ”when I'm haunted by the memory of the lies you told me--to save yourself a few dollars honestly due the country that has made you a rich woman--to gain for yourself a few paltry columns of cheap, sensational newspaper advertising. For that you lied to me and put me in jeopardy of Sing-Sing ... me, the man you pretend to care for--”

”Hold on, Staff!” the woman interrupted harshly.

He moved away. Her arm dropped back to her side. She eyed him a moment with eyes hard and unfriendly.

”You've said about enough,” she continued.

”You're not prepared to deny that you had these possibilities in mind when you lied to me and made me your dupe and cat's-paw?”

”I'm not prepared to argue the matter with you,” she flung back at him, ”nor to hold myself answerable to you for any thing I may choose to say or do.”

He bowed ceremoniously.

”I think that's all,” he said pleasantly.

”It is,” she agreed curtly; then in a lighter tone she added: ”There remains for me only to take my blue dishes and go home.”

As she spoke she moved over to the corner where the bandbox lay ingloriously on its undamaged side. As she bent over it, Staff abstractedly took and lighted another cigarette.

”What made you undo it?” he heard the woman ask.

He swung round in surprise. ”I? I haven't touched the thing since it was brought in--beyond kicking it out of the way.”

”The string's off--it's been opened!” Alison's voice was trembling with excitement. She straightened up, holding the box in both hands, and came hastily over to the table beside which he was standing. ”You see?” she said breathlessly, putting it down.

”The string was on it when I saw it last,” he told her blankly....

Then the memory recurred of the man who had pa.s.sed him at the door--the man who, he suspected, had forced an entrance to his rooms....

Alison was plucking nervously at the cover without lifting it.

”Why don't you look?” he demanded, irritated.

”I--I'm afraid,” she said in a broken voice.

Nevertheless, she removed the cover.

For a solid, silent minute both stared, stupefied. The hat they knew so well--the big black hat with its willow plume and buckle of brilliants--had vanished. In its place they saw the tumbled wreckage of what had once been another hat distinctly: wisps of straw dyed purple, fragments of feathers, bits of violet-coloured ribbon and silk which, mixed with wads and shreds of white tissue-paper, filled the box to br.i.m.m.i.n.g.

Staff thrust a hand in his pocket and produced the knot of violet ribbon. It matched exactly the torn ribbon in the box.