"There was nothing to tell."
"Well, the murder's out, anyhow. And that brings us back to a point I want to make. Now that affair of this
morning. You say you're entitled to no credit. But I've been thinking I'd like to make it up to you by giving a reward."
"I couldn't think of taking it!" cried Win.
Strange that he should break off suddenly from the subject of his son (which, apparently, he had intended pursuing to some end), and jump back to that of the fire! He must have a motive—he looked a man to have motives for everything. She felt that he was laying a trap for her, if she could only find it.
"Wait a minute. Give me time to make myself clear," he went on. "I'm not talking about medals or lockets or silver cups for good girls. I mean a thumping sum, a big enough stone to kill two birds. Folks not in the know would think that it was for saving life. Those in the know (meaning me and you, and nobody else) would understand that it was for saving my son. No disrespect to you. I want to put it delicately, miss. Saving him from a mistake."
Win had always thought "How dare you?" a very silly expression, no matter what the provocation. Yet now she was tempted to use it. Only her subconscious sense of humour, which warned her it would be ridiculous from Peter Rolls's "saleslady" to Peter Rolls himself, made her bite back the words that rushed to the end of her tongue.
"You have a strange idea of putting things delicately!" she cried. "You offer me a reward if I—if I—oh, I can't say it!"
"I can," volunteered the old man coolly. "And I'll tell you just how much I offer. Maybe that'll help your talking apparatus. I'll give you ten thousand dollars.
Wouldn't that be something like making your fortune in New York?"