“Mr. Risk,” cried the young man, half-angry, half-amused, “you would get the truth out of any one! Well, I’ll trust you; but she must never know.” And he confessed to sending Kitty the hundred pounds.
“And how much had you for your own needs when you arrived in London?” was the first question from Risk.
“Fifteen odds. But, you know, I couldn’t have taken the money for myself.”
The host’s smile was kindly. “I doubt whether you are going to be a great worldly success, Hayward,” he said, “but I’m sure you are on the right road to happiness.”
Colin gave his head a rueful shake. “Please understand,” he said shyly, “that there’s nothing between Miss Carstairs and me except a little ordinary friendship.”
“Thank you for telling me about the money,” said Risk, in a more business-like tone. “Now as to this letter, what is your suggestion?”
“That you keep it—in your safe—for the present, Mr. Risk.”
A slight frown contracted the older man’s brow. “It is a horrible thing,” he remarked, “to be retaining another man’s property, and yet I think the circumstances will excuse, though I still hope they may not justify, the action. You see, if Mr. Corrie is innocent, we are doing him a great wrong; if he is guilty—well, we are depriving him of a rope to hang himself with. On the whole, I think you ought to call on him to-morrow morning and hand him back the letter—which I shall keep until it is time for you to start.”
“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Colin, aghast.
“And you need not trouble about Mr. Symington for the present. Let us assume them both innocent until we can prove them guilty.”