When she spoke again it was slowly, each word with an effort.
"My pocket-book was upstairs. It is possible that he borrowed."
Donaldson knew the meaning of that. Kleptomania was a characteristic symptom. Victims of this habit had gone even further in their hot necessity for money.
"Perhaps," she suggested hesitatingly, "perhaps this search to-night may inconvenience you financially. I wish you to feel free to spend without limit whatever you may find helpful. We have more than ample funds. Unfortunately I have on hand only a little money, but as soon as I can get to my bank—"
"I have enough." He smiled as a new meaning to the phrase came to him. "More than enough."
He glanced at the clock. Over half of his first day already gone. He heard the crunching wheels of the taxicab on the graveled road outside. Hurrying into the hall he took one of Arsdale's hats—he had lost his own in the machine—and slipped into his overcoat. Still he paused, curiously reluctant to leave her. He did not feel that there was very much waiting for him outside, and here—he would have been content to live his week in this old library. He had glimpsed a dozen volumes that he would have enjoyed handling. He would like to spread them out upon his knee before the fire and read to her at random from them. Yes, she must be there to complete the library. He was getting loose again in his thoughts.
She was looking at him anxiously.
"I think we shall find him," he said confidently. "At any rate I shall come back in the morning and report."
"This seems such an imposition—" she faltered.
"Please don't look at it in that light," he pleaded earnestly. "I feel as though I were doing this for an old friend."