“I hate that kind of person,” McKnight said pettishly. “Kind of a fellow that thinks you’re going to poison his dog if you offer him a bone.”
When we got back to the car line, with Johnson a draggled and drooping tail to the kite, I was in better spirits. I had told McKnight the story of the three hours just after the wreck; I had not named the girl, of course; she had my promise of secrecy. But I told him everything else. It was a relief to have a fresh mind on it: I had puzzled so much over the incident at the farm-house, and the necklace in the gold bag, that I had lost perspective.
He had been interested, but inclined to be amused, until I came to the broken chain. Then he had whistled softly.
“But there are tons of fine gold chains made every year,” he said. “Why in the world do you think that the—er—smeary piece came from that necklace?”
I had looked around. Johnson was far behind, scraping the mud off his feet with a piece of stick.
“I have the short end of the chain in the sealskin bag,” I reminded him. “When I couldn’t sleep this morning I thought I would settle it, one way or the other. It was hell to go along the way I had been doing. And—there’s no doubt about it, Rich. It’s the same chain.”
We walked along in silence until we caught the car back to town.
“Well,” he said finally, “you know the girl, of course, and I don’t. But if you like her—and I think myself you’re rather hard hit, old man—I wouldn’t give a whoop about the chain in the gold purse. It’s just one of the little coincidences that hang people now and then. And as for last night—if she’s the kind of a girl you say she is, and you think she had anything to do with that, you—you’re addled, that’s all. You can depend on it, the lady of the empty house last week is the lady of last night. And yet your train acquaintance was in Altoona at that time.”
Just before we got off the car, I reverted to the subject again. It was never far back in my mind.
“About the—young lady of the train, Rich,” I said, with what I suppose was elaborate carelessness, “I don’t want you to get a wrong impression. I am rather unlikely to see her again, but even if I do, I—I believe she is already ‘bespoke,’ or next thing to it.”