‘How can I tell?’ he answered; ‘conscience, perhaps, though a private detective is not supposed to possess such a thing. Perhaps I did it because I reciprocated your sentinents towards me, Miss Craig.’
‘My sentiments towards you?’
‘Yes,’ he said audaciously. ‘You said just how that you liked me.’
Instead of taking offence, she positively smiled. She had the courage of a guileless heart.
‘And let me tell you, Miss Craig,’ he went on, and his earnestness became passionate, ‘that I will do anything that lies in my power to serve you. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care what trouble you are in; count on me.’
‘How do you know that I am in trouble?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said; ‘I merely feel it Miss Craig, let me help you.’
‘You don’t know what you are saying,’ she replied evasively.
He jumped up and seized her hand, the small hand, browned by summer sunshine.
‘Let me help you,’ he repeated.