“Oh, oh,” Maggie sobbed out. “And a perfect gentleman he was, too. I can’t believe no bad of him. He wasn’t like—” Her breath caught, and so suddenly that Sweetwater was always convinced that the more cautious Helen had twitched her by her skirt. “Like—like other gentlemen who came here. It was a kind word he had or a smile. I—I—” She made no attempt to finish but bounded to her feet, pulling up the more sedate Helen with her. “Let’s go,” she whispered, “I’m afeared of the man.”
The other yielded and began to cross the floor behind the impetuous Maggie.
Sweetwater summoned up his courage.
“One moment,” he prayed. “Will you not tell me, before you go, whether the candlestick I have noticed on the dining-room mantel is not one of a pair?”
“Yes, there were two—once,” said Helen, resisting Maggie’s effort to drag her out through the open door.
“Once,” smiled Sweetwater; “by which you mean, three days ago.”
A lowering of her head and a sudden make for the door.
Sweetwater changed his tone to one of simple inquiry.
“And was that where they always stood, the pair of them, one on each end of the dining-room mantel?”
She nodded; involuntarily, perhaps, but decisively.