'I suppose I've bungled things again,' she went on. 'Usually I leave everything to Mr. Rice, but this insurance matter I took into my own hands. I wanted you to have the business, so I left positive instructions with Mr. Rice to let me know when the next insurance policy expired. That was last Friday. I 'phoned you at once. I can't imagine—'
As she rattled on, pointing an accusing finger at herself, John Scidmore grew surer and surer of his next step. There was not the faintest note of calculation in his attitude; confused and dazed he merely followed her lead.
'And you never received any policy?' he questioned. 'Not after a week? You must have thought we were rather inattentive—or slow.'
She shook her head. 'I forgot the whole transaction—until this morning. Rice 'phoned me at eight o'clock.'
'But there may still be a chance,' Scidmore suggested, shamed by the very ease with which he was escaping. 'Perhaps another clerk got the message. I'll question them all. Or—maybe you rang up the Falcon's office direct.'
She laid a gloved hand on his arm as she shrugged.
He shook his head. 'You can't imagine how this bothers me,' he went on. He began to feel a certain boldness, such as thieves feel when they put over a sharp trick. He wanted to prolong the discussion, to dally with danger. 'To think that in trying to be of service to me you should have gone astray. I wouldn't have had it happen for—Let me see, what was the amount of your order?'
'Ten thousand dollars.'
'Ten thousand dollars! That's a lot of money.'
'Yes,' she admitted slowly, as she moved toward the door. 'I'm pretty comfortable, but nobody likes to throw money into the street.'