The woman looked at him intently for a moment, then spoke in a colorless voice.
“Perhaps you remember Mary Turner, who was arrested four years ago for robbing your store. And perhaps you remember that she asked to speak to you before they took her to prison.”
The heavy-jowled man gave a start.
“Oh, you begin to remember. Yes! There was a girl who swore she was innocent—yes, she swore that she was innocent. And she would have got off—only, you asked the judge to make an example of her.”
The man to whom she spoke had gone gray a little. He began to understand, for he was not lacking in intelligence. Somehow, it was borne in on him that this woman had a grievance beyond the usual run of injuries.
“You are that girl?” he said. It was not a question, rather an affirmation.
Mary spoke with the dignity of long suffering—more than that, with the confident dignity of a vengeance long delayed, now at last achieved. Her words were simple enough, but they touched to the heart of the man accused by them.
“I am that girl.”
There was a little interval of silence. Then, Mary spoke again, remorselessly.
“You took away my good name. You smashed my life. You put me behind the bars. You owe for all that.... Well' I've begun to collect.”