“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I hoped I might be able to help you.”
“You haven’t told Pauletta?”
“No, nor any other person.”
Mr. Judson’s tenseness relaxed slightly. He paced across the room and back, then faced Penny.
“All my life,” he said very quietly, “I have tried to spare Pauletta the knowledge that her father was—a convict. I haven’t much to offer, but I’ll give anything within reason to keep the story out of the paper.”
“You don’t understand,” interrupted Penny. “I have no intention of printing the information, or of telling anyone. I want nothing from you. But I do wish you would tell me the true story. I am sure there were extenuating circumstances.”
Mr. Judson sagged into an armchair. “None,” he said. “None whatsoever. I used money which did not belong to me. My wife was desperately sick at the time and I wanted her to have the care of specialists. She died while I was serving my sentence.”
“Why, you did have a reason for taking the money,” said Penny kindly. “You should have been granted a pardon.”
“A theft is a theft. When I left prison, I made a new start here, and devoted myself to Pauletta who was then a little girl.”
“How old was she?” inquired Penny.