‘I am sure,—and were proof needed, here it is.’
He had found the pocket, and was turning out the contents. There was a purse, which contained money and some visiting cards on which were her name and address; a small bunch of keys, with her nameplate attached; a handkerchief, with her initials in a corner. The question of ownership was placed beyond a doubt.
‘You see,’ said Lessingham, exhibiting the money which was in the purse, ‘it is not robbery which has been attempted. Here are two ten-pound notes, and one for five, besides gold and silver,—over thirty pounds in all.’
Atherton, who had been turning over the accumulation of rubbish between the joists, proclaimed another find.
‘Here are her rings, and watch, and a bracelet,—no, it certainly does not look as if theft had been an object.’
Lessingham was glowering at him with knitted brows.
‘I have to thank you for this.’
Sydney was unwontedly meek.
‘You are hard on me, Lessingham, harder than I deserve,—I had rather have thrown away my own life than have suffered misadventure to have come to her.’
‘Yours are idle words. Had you not meddled this would not have happened. A fool works more mischief with his folly than of malice prepense. If hurt has befallen Marjorie Lindon you shall account for it to me with your life’s blood.’