Audrey was struck by the terrible change which a few hours had made in her husband. That morning he had been anxious indeed, worried, puzzled, distressed beyond measure by the situation in which he found himself. But now she saw at once that his position must be worse than she had supposed.
For in place of anxiety, she saw in his eyes despair, instead of being worried and irritable, he was bowed down by a terrible weight of depression which no tender words, no gentle caresses, no loving looks could remove.
“Gerard, Gerard,” whispered she in a passionate outburst of misery and longing to help, when they were in the close cab he insisted on taking, “what is it, dear? What have you heard that makes you so wretched?”
He turned his heavy eyes towards her; he was oppressed, stupefied by the weight of the calamity which had fallen upon him.
“I’ve found out,” said he hoarsely, “that there’s something more in all this than we thought. This is no ordinary theft. There’s a conspiracy to ruin me—Heaven knows why. A man has sworn that I gave him one of the cheques to get cashed, and that he gave me the money.”
Audrey stared incredulously.
“But you can disprove that, can’t you?” she said.
“I can deny it; I have denied it, I shall go on denying it. But as for disproving it, there’s only my word against his, and the question is which of us will be believed.”
“And who is the wretch who says this awful thing?”
“A man whom I’ve known by sight and to speak to, for a long time I never heard his name or knew who he was till to-day. It appears his name is Gossett, and he’s a solicitor’s clerk. What it all means or how it has all come about, I don’t know. But I feel as if a net had been spread for my feet, that it’s tightening, and that there is no escape.”