“The trouble always has been from the moment I entered Krutzmacht’s office that afternoon that you have persisted in this wrong idea. You took me for a common thief then, and you think me a successful swindler now. Well, it happens that I am neither. So you can’t understand!”
She looked over the comfortable room, which for the moment they had to themselves, as Farson had taken Hollinger into the library.
“You seem to have done very well by yourself,” she observed.
“I was Krutzmacht’s legitimate agent then, when I entered his office, and I have been his executor so to speak every since,”—and as she shrugged her shoulders skeptically, he added, “I haven’t a cent of my own—really not a cent; I am poorer than you!”
“You want me to believe that song? . . . How about the theater and the mine in Arizona? You see I have been following you up.”
“They belong to somebody else.”
“Indeed—to whom?”
“I shan’t tell you that!”
“Because you can’t. . . . They belong to me.”
“Prove your claim then!”