Feathers watched him for a moment with beaten eyes, then he said jerkily:
"You didn't—didn't care for her when you were married, Chris? I thought—wasn't it—just to get the money?"
Chris turned his haggard face.
"To get what money?" he asked vaguely.
Feathers tried to explain.
"I was told—I understood—that the money was left to your wife—to your wife alone I mean, unless she consented to marry you, and that then . . . then you divided it."
Chris laughed mirthlessly.
"Good lord, it was the other way about," he said in a hard voice. "Her father was always a crank, and he never forgave her for not being a boy—that was why he adopted me. He left every farthing to me—and I knew how proud she was—knew she'd never take a shilling if she was told the truth about the will, so . . . so I married her to settle it! It seemed the best way out at the time," he added hopelessly. "I thought I was being rather clever . . . I know now what a damned fool I was."
Feathers got up slowly and, walking across to Chris, put his hands heavily on his shoulders, looking at him with desperate eyes.
"Is that the truth?" he asked hoarsely. "Will you swear that it's the truth?"