“Haven’t you made me uncomfortable enough by this untimely intrusion?” Harleston muttered sleepily.
“What is your idea in not offering any opposition?” Crenshaw demanded. “Is it a plant?”
“It was courtesy at first, and the novelty of the experience; but it’s ceased to be novel, and courtesy is a bit supererogatory. By the way, which of you came up the fire-escape?”
The three shook their heads.
“I’m not a burglar,” Crenshaw snapped.
“The burden is on you to prove it, my friend!” Harleston smiled. “However, it’s no matter. Just drop cards before you leave so that I can return your call. Once more, good-night!”
“I’m off,” said Marston. “Come along, Crenshaw, you can’t do anything more here, and we’ll all forget and forgive and start fresh in the morning.”
“Start?” cried Crenshaw? “what for—home? I tell you the letter is here—he took it, didn’t he? He was at the cab.”
“Will you also give your word that you didn’t take a letter from the cab?” Crenshaw demanded, turning upon Harleston.
“I’ll give you nothing since you’ve asked me in that manner,” Harleston replied sharply; “unless you want this.” His hand came from under the sheet, and Crenshaw was looking into a levelled 38. Harleston had a pair of them.