"You'll be talking only for our information," cut in Bristow crisply. "We won't give it to the papers. We want to use it for our own benefit."
"Ah, I see. Well, then——"
Withers got up and paced the length of the floor several times in silence while they watched him. He gave the impression of framing up in advance in his mind what he would say. He seemed to want to talk without talking too much—to tell a part of a story, not all.
"I tell you, gentlemen," he said, going back to his chair, his voice trembling, "this is a hard thing to get to. I mean I don't like to say what I must say. But I see there's no way out but this. The truth of the matter is, I came up here to satisfy myself as to what my wife was doing in regard to a certain matter."
"You mean you were suspicious of her—jealous of her?" Bristow interpolated.
"No, not that," returned the husband.
"He's lying!" was the thought of both Greenleaf and Bristow.
"No. Let me make that very clear. I never doubted her in that way."
"Well, how did you doubt her?"
Withers winced.