“As her lawyer I am trying to divert suspicion from her by finding those cursed documents,” snapped Hollister, his quick temper rising. “And look here, Curtis,” swinging toward the blind surgeon in his excitement, “it is going to be d—mned serious for her if we don’t find them. Don’t forget that John was murdered.”
“By heaven! Do you mean to insinuate—”
Curtis was on his feet, his hand clenched about the other’s arm.
“No, no. Let go, you fool!” Hollister strove to free himself. “I haven’t the faintest idea that she murdered her uncle, but,” as Curtis released his grip on his arm, “but I do believe that she took those papers.”
Curtis mastered his temper with difficulty. “Your reasons for thinking Miss Meredith a thief?” he demanded.
Hollister’s appraising glance at his companion lasted fully a minute.
“Well,” he said finally, “through the disappearance of the codicil and the prenuptial agreement, Anne inherits a large fortune without having to go through a marriage ceremony with you.”
“And is that your only reason for thinking she took the documents?” persisted Curtis.
“Isn’t that enough?” replied Hollister, insolently. “She wanted to dodge being married to you. That, depend on it, made her a thief.”
“Indeed?” Curtis laid his cane across his knees and bent a little forward. “Then how do you account for the fact that she is still willing to marry me?”