“If I could help myself, I would not go at all.”
“Oh,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “I understand. Something possibly about that poor boy in your employ and that robbery.”
Lanagan’s black eyes were studying the woman intently; Leslie was watching Cutting. Both, I could see, were puzzled. Even I, with my duller perceptions, was sensible that there was some subtle undercurrent in this conversation; something cryptic that I could not solve.
“You will need your hat,” she said, and turned to the hat rack in the rear of the hall.
“It’s all right, Chief,” said Cutting, in an aside, arising, “you’ve got me. Please don’t make any scene before her.”
She returned with the hat. He fumbled with it.
“Kiss me,” he said. She did so; left his arms, but came back to them, a gush of tears starting as she clung to him in a passionate embrace.
“Go,” he said, faintly, his voice breaking. She turned and stumbled for the stairs. A quick look flashed from Lanagan to the Chief.
“One minute, madam,” said Leslie, sternly. “You had better come along, too.”
“No!” cried Cutting. “Never, Chief, as you are a man! Never in a million years! She has never known of my work out here; she knew me before Moyomemsing; she stuck by me during it all; she married me and we came out here. She knows nothing; nothing. She may have suspected, but she knew nothing. The old call claimed me, going through those houses making estimates on cleaning; why, it’s a disease, that’s all, Chief! I got pressed for money. I undertook too much in my business. I couldn’t handle it. I had notes to meet. I just fell naturally back to the old easy way. That’s all. Just went back to it because that’s the way I was born, I suppose; crooked.”