“Surely.” Maynard’s smile showed his strong white teeth. “Accidents do happen, Marian, even in the selection of a birth-place. My parents were Americans, and my ancestors were Norman-French and Anglo-Saxon. You cannot question my loyalty to Uncle Sam on those grounds.”
“Were you not decorated by the Kaiser?” demanded Marian, her blood tingling at his faintly humorous manner of taking her serious accusation.
“I was, several years ago.” Maynard’s smile disappeared. “Suppose I answer what must come next in your ‘questionnaire’,” he suggested and a certain sternness crept into voice and manner. “I can give you no account of my whereabouts during the past twelve months, or——” He paused—“my occupation. Come, Marian, old comrade, take me on faith?” and he flung out both hands, his voice soft and winning.
“If I only could!” He caught the look that flamed her eyes and the next instant she was in his arms, his voice dangerously sweet as he murmured loving, adoring words in her ear, and then holding her close he kissed her passionately. Suddenly she broke from his embrace.
“No, no,” she cried. “I sent you away once and I must do so again. It was madness on your part to break down the barrier——”
“The barrier, Marian, no longer exists,” he stated softly, and she sprang up.
“What do you mean?” she demanded breathlessly.
He answered her question with another: “Did you see the unidentified dead man whom Evelyn found Tuesday afternoon in the Burnham library?”
“I? See him?” His eyes never left her white strained face, but she was unconscious of his scrutiny. “No, I did not see the man. Why?”
For reply Maynard unbuttoned his coat and took from an inner pocket a photograph and handed it to her. In silence she stared at the dead man sitting in the library chair; in silence she looked up at Maynard.