“And what has a dealer to do with my diamonds?”
“Nothing—a freak of mine. I took a notion to find out just what they were worth.”
“And don’t you know?” Her voice was very low, her eyes burned on his face.
“Only approximately, madam, approximately.”
The glance she had fixed on him, fell. She took a step nearer, but did not speak at once.
“What is it?” he cried. “Why do you hesitate to answer my questions?”
“William,” said she, “were it not more to the point to ask why I, who have always been considered an honorable woman, should resort to the subterfuge of stealing my own jewels in order to escape the delivery of them up into other hands?”
“Perhaps,” he muttered; “but we will not go into that. No woman enjoys parting with such gems as these even for a few days.”
She laughed. “But a woman does not resort to crime, run the risk of police investigation and submit to such indignities as are inflicted upon her by the so-called detective agent, for the mere sake of retaining in her possession jewels of any price. She must have another motive—a motive of terror lest an evil greater than these should come upon her—the loss of her husband’s love or trust, the—the—”
“Madam, what have you been doing? What secret underlies all these words?”