“Mr. Moulton is at his office,” she answered tremulously. “He telephoned while I was out that he had to work to-night. Oh, Mr. Kennedy—he knows—he knows. I know it. He has avoided me ever since I missed the replica from-”
“Sh!” cautioned Craig. He had risen and gone to the door.
“Winters,” he whispered, “I want you to go down to Lynn Moulton’s office. Meanwhile Jameson can take care of Muller. I am going over to that place of Stein’s presently. Bring Moulton up there. You will wait here, Walter, for the present,” he nodded.
He returned to the room where I could hear her crying softly.
“Now, Mrs. Moulton,” he said gently, “I’m afraid I must trouble you to go with me. I am going over to a pawnbroker’s on the Bowery.”
“The Bowery?” she repeated, with a genuinely surprised shudder. “Oh, no, Mr. Kennedy. Don’t ask me to go anywhere to-night. I am—I am in no condition to go anywhere—to do anything—I—”
“But you must,” said Kennedy in a low voice.
“I can’t. Oh—have mercy on me. I am terribly upset. You—”
“It is your duty to go, Mrs. Moulton,” he repeated.
“I don’t understand.” she murmured. “A pawnbroker’s?”