“I didn’t think of that. But there’s no reason why part of your original story shouldn’t be true. The husband appears, the lady begs the victim to go and she will follow. That is it!”
“I tell you——”
Bobbie stopped his protest.
“No, no, my man, it won’t do,” he said sternly. “My cousin, Miss Ford, who has so cleverly trapped you, must have some special reason for not wishing to hand you over to justice—had I been she, I would have sent for the police. She has probably taken the wisest course—I will not interfere with her plans.”
He laughed softly—Gordon thought that the immaculate agriculturist Abel must have laughed like that; there was something to be said for Cain.
“Give you the key of the safe, eh? I was nearly deceived; upon my word, I was. Now go on with your dusting, little man, and thank your lucky stars you’re not in prison.”
Gordon went on with his dusting—he dusted the perspiration from his brow, and the duster was not particularly clean. The result was startling.
“Bobbie!” he wailed.
Bobbie turned on his heel.
“Do you want me to kick you?” he demanded.