For a moment’s space she gazed at him as though he had said something too awful for belief. Then, with a wail, she threw up her hands.
“It’s the beginning o’ the judgment!”
“What d’ye mean? Are ye daft?” He seized her roughly by the arm. “Speak!”
“The letter was inside the paper,” she moaned.
“The letter! What letter?”
“Hugh Carstairs’ letter about the shares. . . . I took it from the safe to read it. . . . When I heard ye coming to the kitchen I was feared, and I hid it in the paper. . . . I—I didna mean to betray ye, John, but—oh, dinna look at me like that!”
“Ye—!” he stormed, “ye’ve ruined me, damned me!” For an instant it seemed as though he would smite her, but he flung away, saying, “Get out o’ my sight! Ye’ve done for your brother!”
Yet, for all his passion, his mind was working quickly. He recalled her as she tottered through the shop.
“There’s just a chance he hasna opened it yet. Haste ye to his house and tell him ye want a sight o’ it for ten minutes. Make any excuse ye like, but gang quick.”
Willingly she went, poor soul, for with all her being she loved this brother of hers, contemptible thief though he was.