“D—mn you!” Tom sprang for the other’s throat.
“Take your hands off me!” thundered Calhoun-Cooper, struggling to free himself.
“I’ll make you eat those words first,” and Tom’s grasp tightened.
“I didn’t say your cousin stole the bracelet,” panted the other. “Have a little sense.”
Slowly Tom released him, and the Representative straightened his rumpled collar and tie.
“Suppose you explain exactly what you are driving at,” said Tom, resuming his seat.
Calhoun-Cooper did not reply at once. “I went to Madame Yvonett’s intending to question her....”
“Good Lord!” broke in Tom.
“But on seeing that dear old Quakeress I couldn’t do it,” admitted Calhoun-Cooper. “I’m a great believer in caste, Nichols; no niece of Madame Yvonett’s will go wrong. Ask Marjorie Langdon to tell you the truth about that bracelet, and I will believe every word she says.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Tom, at a loss for a longer answer.