“No!” Dr. Crossett cried out in denial.
“Why should Rupert tell me so, if it were not true? That is not all. You did not see his wife, Lola, but he saw you. You were at Churchill’s restaurant for two hours, with Dick Fenway!”
“No, John!” Dr. Barnhelm caught him by the arm. “What are you saying?”
“The truth! I made him swear to it. He sat only a few feet away from her. He described her dress; he spoke of telling his friends who she was, when they remarked upon the splendid jewels she wore about her neck.”
“There! He did lie, or he was mistaken. My daughter wears no jewels—you know that, both of you. Just a few little trinkets that were her mother’s. No jewels; not one!”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Dr. Crossett. “Thank God!”
“I will kill that man! You”—the old man glared at John contemptuously—“you, who say you love her—you should have killed him. She has no jewels—see!”
He put his hand in the safe and drew out Lola’s little black jewel box.
“Here is all she has, all that she ever had. The key, Lola, give me the key.”
“Why?”