“Is it you really? May I have it for myself?”
Cæsar took the card and as he gave it up, Christopher knew he had made a mistake, and got scarlet. 62
“Where did you find it?” demanded Aymer sharply.
“In the cupboard in the little red room. We were turning it out.”
“Yes, it’s I. Why shouldn’t it be? I wasn’t always a cripple, you know.”
He tossed the picture back on the rug. The scar stood out white and distinct, and his face was strangely hard and set. A book slipped down on the left side and he tried to catch it with the left hand and failed, and it fell with a bang on the floor.
“May I have it?” asked Christopher meekly from the rug.
“What for? You don’t know the horse and you don’t know the man. Put it in the fire.”
“No, I won’t,” exclaimed Christopher indignantly. “Cæsar, don’t be so horrid, it’s—it’s—exactly like you.”
Cæsar ignored his own command and asked another question instead. “Where did you say you found it?”