Of a sudden the pilfered necklace secreted in an inner pocket of his waistcoat, above his heart, seemed to have gained the weight of so much lead. The hideous consciousness of the thing stung like the bite of live coals.
This woman was in distress; he yearned to lighten her burden; he could do that with half a dozen words; his guilt prohibited.
A thief!
Now indeed the Lone Wolf tasted shame and realized its bitterness….
Puzzled by his constraint, the girl's eyes again sought his; and warned in time by the movement of her head, he mustered impudence to meet their question with the look of tenderness that went with the rôle she suffered him to play.
"What is the matter?"
"I am ashamed that I have failed you…."
"Don't think of that. I know you did your best. Only tell me what became of it."
"It was stolen; when I returned to my stateroom that night I was held up and robbed. The thief shot at me, killed his confederate, decamped by way of the port. I pursued. Another aided him to overpower and cast me overboard."
"Yet you escaped…!"