“Why, to our house!”
“When?”
“The time we’re talking about—when you upset Mrs. Sillinger’s coffee and broke the cup.”
It is difficult to say whether I was relieved or not. I could only falter, “I—I don’t believe I’m the man.”
She came back two or three steps toward me.
“Why, of course you’re the man! Isn’t your name Melbury?”
“Yes—but—but I’m not the only Melbury. Could it have been my—my brother, Jack?”
“What’s your name?”
“Frank.”