“And they're not famous masterpieces which your father bought recently, from some dealer who smuggled them into this country?” So simple were the words of her inquiry, but under them beat something evil, deadly.
The young man laughed contemptuously.
“I should say not!” he declared indignantly, for he resented the implication against his father's honesty.
“It's a trick! Burke's done it!” Mary's words came with accusing vehemence.
There was another single step made by Griggs toward the door into the passage.
Mary's eye caught the movement, and her lips soundlessly formed the name:
“Griggs!”
The man strove to carry off the situation, though he knew well that he stood in mortal peril. He came a little toward the girl who had accused him of treachery. He was very dapper in his evening clothes, with his rather handsome, well-groomed face set in lines of innocence.
“He's lying to you!” he cried forcibly, with a scornful gesture toward Dick Gilder. “I tell you, those tapestries are worth a million cold.”
Mary's answer was virulent in its sudden burst of hate. For once, the music of her voice was lost in a discordant cry of detestation.