“Mrs. Grayson,” said Mr. Morton, “the ownership of this disputed money seems to rest on your word.”
She hesitated. Clifford read beneath that white, calm face: realized that she was on the thinnest of thin ice—if indeed she were not already through it and in the black waters. He believed, and was certain she believed, that Mr. Morton already knew of the marriage—but did he know of the other things?
“Whose is it, Mrs. Grayson?” prompted Mr. Morton.
She indicated Hilton with a nod. “The money is his; give it to him, Mr. Clifford,” she said.
Clifford quickly weighed his conflicting responsibilities. To give Life the chance to test Mary out to the end of this experience weighed more important than the mere capture of Hilton.
“Here it is,” he said; and thrust the bills into one of the handcuffed hands—and as he did so, out of the tail of his eye he caught a look of dismay on Loveman’s face.
“Since your affairs seem to be adjusted,” put in Mr. Morton, “I dare say you’d like to be saying good-afternoon.”
Clifford removed the handcuffs, Loveman gave Hilton his hat and cane, and the professional entangler of women, though ruffled somewhat as to the perfection of his apparel, bowed himself out with exquisite manner.
There was a moment of silence—a strain upon all except Mr. Morton, who had the light, easy bearing of a man of the world at an afternoon tea. If he knew or guessed anything, he did not show it—and his pleasant surface made him seem all the more dangerous.
He gave Mary a slight but gracious bow. “I hope you’ll forgive my dropping in so informally. But I had learned your address by chance, I happened to be in the neighborhood, and I wished to advance my acquaintance, begun when you were Miss Gilmore.”