"So it was you in here," he said. Rigden nodded. "Do you know who I was ass enough to think it was?" continued Theodore, using a word which Moya had never heard him apply to himself before, even in fun. "Has Moya told you?"
"She has."
"I saw the light," said Moya, in elliptical explanation. Theodore continued to address his host.
"I oughtn't to have interfered," he said, with a humility which was already arousing Moya's suspicions. "I should have minded my own business, Rigden, and I apologise. I'd got it into my head—I can't tell you why. Will you forgive me? And have you any more whisky?"
"I've nothing to forgive," said Rigden, sincerely enough. "But a drink we'll have; that's an excellent idea!"
But the counter was between them, and Theodore was the first to leave the store; but on the threshold he stopped, and just turned to Moya for an instant.
"By the way, you didn't see anybody else, I suppose?" said he.
There was an instant's pause. Then Moya committed her sin.
"Of course I didn't," were the words.
Theodore strolled over to the verandah. Moya waited behind as in devotion while Rigden locked that fatal door for the last time.