"My play—I am sure now that it is mine—I cannot take from him; that is irretrievably lost. He has read it to his circle and prepared for its publication. And, no matter how firmly convinced you or I may be of his strange power, no one would believe our testimony. They would pronounce us mad. Perhaps we are mad!"
"No; we are not mad; but it is mad for you to stay here," she asserted.
"I shall not stay here one minute longer than is absolutely essential. Within a week I shall have conclusive proof of his guilt or innocence."
"How will you go about it?"
"His writing table—"
"Ah!"
"Yes, perhaps I can discover some note, some indication, some proof—"
"It's a dangerous game."
"I have everything to gain."
"I wish I could stay here with you," she said. "Have you no friend, no one whom you could trust in this delicate matter?"