Let me now pass quickly on with my tale over the few succeeding hours which witnessed its final scenes. What remains to be told is as well told shortly and I have no wish to linger over it.
It was the next morning, and I again sat in my office, when the shrill voice of the office boy interrupted my bitter reflections.
"Mr. Littell to see you, sir," it said.
"Show him in," I answered mechanically. I had been thinking of him and accepted the announcement as a matter of course, though I had no reason to expect him at that moment. Less than a day had elapsed since I had read the report of Miles and I had now to confront Littell. There had been no opportunity to take counsel with myself upon my course. I had hardly yet grasped the full import of the situation and I must at once at this very moment meet him—talk to him. I could not do it. I needed more time, and desperately pulling some papers in front of me, I buried myself in what I meant to appear a mass of work.
The door opened and he stood upon the threshold. I pretended neither to see nor hear his entrance, but I stole a glance at him without lifting my head. It was the same Littell; perfectly dressed, graceful, insouciant, the well remembered, attractive personality.
"Well, Dick," he said, "I am with you again you see!" and in his voice was a note of genuine feeling as he stood there smiling a greeting to me.
It was impossible to pretend unconsciousness longer and with an effort I looked up and met his open glance with my conscious, faltering one, and tried to respond as cordially as I could, but I kept my seat for I could not take his hand. It was not that I would not take the hand of a criminal, but that I could not give mine to a man I meant to destroy; so to cover up the omission and to avoid the questions that I feared he would put to me, I asked him to be seated while I finished my work. He looked at me inquiringly, but I avoided his eyes.
"Well, go on with your work," he said quietly, "I am not in a hurry"; and he sat down and waited and watched me.
I struggled to fix my attention on the matters before me and to maintain my composure, but it was more than I was equal to; I could not do it, and crushing my arms over the books and papers, I squared myself and faced him to meet the worst—anything was better than this suspense.
"You are not inclined to work after all, it seems," he remarked, on observing my action.