[CHAPTER LXI.]
LOGIC.
"Just a moment," Leona said eagerly. "Suppose I deny that. How are you going to prove that I did so?"
"I am coming to that," Lawrence said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "As soon as Bruce was in trouble and the plot began to reel off I saw that it was mine. Of course there were large varyings in the details, but the scheme was mine. It was even laid on the same spot as my skeleton story. When I grasped that, I knew quite well that somebody must have stolen my plot."
"But why must it have been me?" Leona asked.
"Well, in the first place, because woman's instinct helped me. My niece said for some time that you were deeply in love with Dr. Bruce and that she feared for him--item the first. Then I recollected telling you some details of my story plot--item the second. I came to the conclusion you had stolen my plot. And you stole it on the very night that I told you the main incidents."
"How did you find that out?" Leona cried, startled off her balance.
"Glad you admit it," Lawrence said calmly. "When I went to look for the synopsis I knew perfectly well that I should not find it. And yet it was there only the day before, as I recollected afterwards. Now, how did you get it? The night in question you were only out of the room a little time, and yet in that little time you contrived to lay your hands on my notes."
"This," Leona murmured, "this is quite thrilling."
"Well, I promise you I shall be more thrilling later on," said Lawrence. "I had to settle that part before I went any further. I tried to recall the conversation. How could you have got into my rooms? Then it came to me like a flash. A journalist who stood by asked me where I carried my latchkey--a joking suggestion that he would steal my plot. I said that it was in the ticket pocket of my overcoat."