"Either truthfully or not at all," he promised her. "My word of honor."
She was plainly excited as she set him her question, seeming at once eager and afraid to have his response.
"I saw you take Patten's fountain pen and a scrap of note-paper from the table by your bed when you were hurt--the first time I called to see how you were doing. I thought that perhaps there was something of importance written on the paper, that, if nothing else, you wanted a bit of Patten's handwriting to use in your proof that he was not the man he pretended to be. You slipped both pen and paper under your pillow. Tell me just this: Was that paper of any importance whatever, of any interest even, to you?"
"No," he said steadily, without hesitation. "It was not. I did not so much as look at it."
She leaned back in her chair with a long sigh, her eyes wide on his. And while he marvelled at it, he saw that now her look was one of pure pity.
"Just what has that got to do with the robberies you mention?"
"Everything!" she burst out. "Everything! Can't you see? Oh, my God!"
She dropped her face into her hands and he saw her shoulders lift and slump. Glancing aside swiftly, he saw the five golden disks on the table, almost to be reached from where he sat.
"No doubt," he said hastily, as her head was lifted again, "you think that you would like to send me to jail?"
"Jail, no! A thousand times no! But you must, you must let me send you to a hospital!"