Part 36 (2/2)

”Misunderstand!” The girl looked at him steadily, the dark circles about her eyes eloquent. ”Never. How can you fancy such a thing! Never.”

”And you're willing to trust me to bring everything out right? It will be all right, take my word for that.”

Still the girl did not stir, but gazed at him. ”Yes, I trust you implicitly, always,” she said.

A moment longer the hands held their place before they dropped.

”All right, then,” he said perfunctorily, ”go to bed. I'll take care of Steve--to-night and in the future. Don't worry. Good-night.”

”Wait,” a hand was upon his arm, a compelling hand. ”You mean--”

Roberts smiled deliberately, his slow, impersonal smile.

”Exactly what I said. This will be a lesson Steve should never forget. I can't imagine his repeating it--ever. Besides, I'll help him not to. I have a plan.”

”You mean to help him as--as you helped Harry Randall and Margery?”

A moment the man was silent, though he smiled.

”No, not exactly. I'll merely a.s.sist him to help himself. I think perhaps it's only my duty anyway, that maybe I'm more or less responsible. By the way, don't be surprised if he disappears for a bit. He may possibly decide to go out of town. That's all, for now.”

The girl drew a long breath.

”You responsible!” she echoed. ”If you're responsible, how, then, about--myself?”

”Elice!” Roberts cut her off peremptorily. ”I refuse to listen. Go to bed at once, I insist. I'll come to-morrow and talk if you wish. Just now it's all too near. Good-night again.”

An instant later, on the darkened porch without, he had the arm of the doddering old man in the grip of a vise.

”Leave everything here to me,” he said swiftly, ”and see to Elice.” He was leading the other toward the entrance. ”Listen. See that she goes to bed--at once; and you too. I'll attend to everything else. Trust me,” and very gently he himself closed the door behind the other two.

It was after office hours of the day following when Stephen Armstrong, a bit pale but carefully groomed this time, entered the outer room of Darley Roberts' office and, with decided reluctance, approached the private apartment beyond. The door was open. Seated before the big desk, s.h.i.+rt-sleeved as usual, Roberts sat working. As the newcomer approached he wheeled about.

”Come in,” he said simply. ”I'm glad to see you.”

The visitor took a seat by the open window and looked out rather obviously.

”I just received your note a bit ago,” he began perfunctorily, ”and called instead of giving you an appointment, as you asked. It's the least I could do after last night.” He halted, looking at the building opposite steadily. ”I want you to know that I appreciate thoroughly what you did for me then. I--I'm heartily ashamed, of course.”

”Don't speak of it, please,” swiftly. ”I've forgotten it and I'm sure Miss Gleason and her father have done the same. No one else knows, so let's consider it never occurred. It never will again, I'm sure, so what's the use of remembering? Is it agreed?”

Armstrong's narrow shoulders lifted in silence.

”As for not speaking of it again,” he answered after a moment, ”yes.

Whether or not in the future, however--I'm not liar enough to promise things I can't deliver.”

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