"I saw your car last
night, and I traced it up the avenue this morning."
"A mouth isn't much to go by," she observed, with a very wan
smile.
"It happens to be your mouth," he replied.
She rose to her feet and stood for a moment as though listening.
Then she thrust her hand down into the bosom of her gown and
produced a small roll of paper wrapped in a sheet of oilskin. He
took it from her at once and slipped it into the breast pocket of
his coat.
"You understand what you are doing?" she persisted.
"Perfectly;" he replied.
She crossed the room towards the hearthrug and stood there for a
moment, leaning against the mantelpiece.
"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked.
She turned around. There was a wonderful change in her face.
"No one saw me," she said. "I do not think that there is any one
but you who could positively identify the car. Neither my aunt
nor the maid who is with us has any idea that I left my room last
night."
"Your clothes?"
"Absolutely destroyed," she assured him with a smile. "Some day I
hope I'll find courage to ask you whether you thought them
becoming."
"Some day," he retorted, a little grimly, "I am going to have a
very serious talk with you, Miss Abbeway."
"Shall you be very stern?"
He made no response to her lighter mood. The appeal in her eyes
left him colder than ever.
"I wish to save your life," he declared, "and I mean to do it. At
the same time, I cannot forget your crime or my complicity in it.
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