She fumbled in her bosom and produced a folded check book.
“Here’s the check book they give me, all proper. Sign your checks the same way ye indorsed that one, savvy? I turned in the note ye left me at the shack, with your signature on it, to the bank.”
She broke off. She came to a faltering but decided halt.
For, as she had spoken, a queer look had stolen across the beard-blurred features of Thady Shea, and had settled there. It was such a look as she had never previously seen upon his face. It was a look of incredulous wonder, of grief, of dismay.
The personal equation in that look silenced and startled Mrs. Crump. It conveyed to her that she must have said some terrible thing, something which had shocked Thady Shea beyond words, something which had struck and hurt him like a blow. She rapidly thought back—no, she had not even sworn!
“What the devil ails ye?” she demanded.
“Why—why—that check!” blurted Shea. He drew back from the check book which she was extending to him. His eyes were wide, fixed. “I never meant it—that way! I never dreamed you’d do anything with it. I left it there with the other paper to show you what Dorales had been up to.”
Mrs. Crump laughed suddenly.
“Oh, then I gave ye too much credit? Never mind, Thady——”
“You don’t understand!” In his voice was a harsh note, a note of pain. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? That money—why, it’s stolen! It’ll have to go back to Mackintavers! It isn’t ours.”