"I didn't know exactly how—"
"An average of about fifteen people come to see me every day," he said, in his calm, business-like voice, "and of the fifteen about five are men. And of the five men an average of four come, with one plausible tale or other, to get money out of me under false pretenses."
I shot out of my seat. The anger choking me was hardly allayed by the raising of his hand and his suave, "Sit down again." He went on quietly, as I sank back into my chair: "I only want you to see that with all men who come telling me strange tales my first impulse must be suspicion."
Indignation almost strangled me. "And—and—am I to understand that—that it's suspicion—now?"
"So long as money is a factor in the case it must be—till everything is explained."
"But everything is explained."
"To your satisfaction—possibly; but hardly to mine."
"Then what explanation would be satisfactory to you?"
"Oh, any of two or three. Since you decline to put yourself under Doctor Glegg, you might be able to offer some corroboration.
"But I can't. I've kept my secret so closely that no one has heard it but myself. The few people I know would be as incredulous as you are."