“Wait, Anne, I have a confession to make.” Nothing could be more suave and apparently tranquil than Mrs. Meredith’s voice and manner. It had just occurred to her astute mind that the blind surgeon might be a person to propitiate. She saw Anne’s face of distress, Curtis’ slight, cynical smile, and met Leonard McLane’s questioning glance with supreme audacity. “I saw Doctor Curtis and Sam leave John’s bedroom and rush down the corridor. Much surprised by their conduct, I entered my brother-in-law’s bedroom. On the bed I saw several papers. I took the prenuptial agreement, Anne, that I might safeguard your interests—”
Anne turned deadly white. “Mother!”
“It is safely put away,” she went on, paying not the slightest attention to Anne. “When it is required I will produce it.”
“And the codicil to Meredith’s will,” stated Curtis swiftly. “You have that also—denial is useless,” as she attempted to speak. “Both documents must be given to Hollister to-day, madam. If you wish I will hand them to him with the one hundred thousand dollars in cash, the inference being that they were placed in the safe by Meredith.”
“Very well, I will give them to you, on condition—”
“No conditions, madam,” with stern emphasis. “I have no intention of pressing the subject further. So far as you are concerned, it will never be mentioned by me.”
“Nor by me,” was the audacious retort, as Mrs. Meredith swept by Curtis and left the room.
McLane broke the ensuing pause by walking over to the chair and lifting Jocko in his arms. “I’ll take care of this little fellow, Anne,” he said. “Lucille is resting quietly in her room with her mother and Gretchen is looking after her. Colonel Hull’s injury in his motor accident last night comprised a broken arm and a collar bone. I’ll see you both later,” and he discreetly vanished.
Curtis fumbled with his cane in unhappy silence. He had solved the problem surrounding John Meredith’s mysterious death, but like many another gratified desire it brought a bitter pang to his heart. He was in honor bound to release Anne from her promise to marry him. But how could he leave with his passionate love for her untold? Love had made no count of the hours of their short acquaintance. Anne had crept into his heart to be enshrined forever. Was it obligatory that he leave her in silence? The minutes lengthened as pride warred fiercely with love.
“Anne,” he stopped suddenly before where she sat, watching him with deep attention, “I cannot in honor hold you to your promise. Your uncle’s plan that we marry as an act of restitution was unjust to you. I honor you highly, I esteem your friendship—” He kept his voice calm by an effort of will. “Without a career, I feel that I have no right to ask you to share your life with me. I am not worthy—”