John felt it was necessary to tell him something near the truth.
"I suppose you have a right to know that I came here in her absence. I came without her knowledge—let myself in with a key and locked the doors outside there, so that I should not be disturbed. How you got in I don't know."
"I got in through my own bedroom which is beyond the boudoir," retorted Beecher Monmouth icily, amazed and further enraged at his calmness.
"Oh!" said John. "There must have been a door I didn't lock. Well, to get along with my explanation—"
Beecher Monmouth drew away from him; mechanically he drew off his overcoat and threw it to the floor.
"Young man," he shouted, his face suddenly turning from white to scarlet, "what are those letters there?" His eyes fell upon the opened cash-box lying on the bed. He rushed to it and took it up. "What were you doing with this?"
"I was breaking it open," answered John.
Beecher Monmouth fixed upon him bewildered and stupefied eyes. Then he hurried across the room and put out his hand for the bell. John, however, was too quick for him; he leapt forward and flung his arms powerfully about the lean, elderly figure.
"You mustn't ring that bell," he said in a low, tense voice. "I am here on very particular business, and there must be no disturbance whatever."
"Will you let me go?" shouted Beecher Monmouth, his face contorted with rage. "Let me go!"