We were all silent. Monk went over to the bookcase and began to put some books to rights which were disarranged on the shelf.
Clara got up and crossed over to him, but he did not turn round, although he must have heard her steps. He did not even look when she laid her hand on his shoulder.
"But even now, you have not told us everything!"
"Yes, everything that can be of interest to others."
"No, you are wrong, Monk," said my wife, in a friendly tone, not removing her hand from his shoulder. "Did you not ask us to help you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, and however strange it may seem, yet I believe that one of these little mice can this time help the lion. But you must first tell us everything. When Miss Frick left, why didn't you go with her? Perhaps you thought then that she had stolen the diamond?"
"No, I didn't—but—well, how can I explain myself; you will not understand me—I believe in her, and yet there are moments when—"
"You men are a miserable lot of creatures when it comes to a question of trust," said Clara, with unction. "You, Monk, and very likely you, Frederick, would do the same. You do not hesitate to assure a woman that you respect and love her above everything in the world; but if only there comes a wretched photograph, or some accidental coincidence, then you believe the same woman to be capable of committing the lowest and most degrading of crimes. Yes, I speak not so much with regard to the robbery, as that she, if she were guilty, allowed another to suffer in her place! Let me tell you what passed between you and Sigrid, and then you shall tell me if I am right?"
Monk only nodded, with his face half turned away, and my wife continued in a severe tone:—