“You are a guest in my house, Miss Trevert,” he said with offended dignity, “I scarcely expected you to impugn my good faith. Surely my word is sufficient ...”
He turned his back on her and took a couple of paces into the room in apparent vexation. Then he returned and stood at the back of the Chesterfield behind her. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet, but some vague instinct made Mary Trevert turn her head. She saw him standing there, twisting his hands nervously behind his back.
“Surely my word is sufficient ...” he repeated.
“In business,” said Mary boldly, “one cannot be too careful.”
“Besides,” Mr. Schulz urged, “this was a private letter which Mr. ... Mr. Dulkinghorn certainly did not expect you to see. That makes it awkward ...”
“I think in the circumstances,” said Mary, “I must insist, Mr. Schulz!”
She was now feeling horribly frightened. She strained her ears in vain for a sound. The whole house seemed wrapped in a grave-like quiet. The smile had never left Mr. Schulz’s face. But it was a cruel, wolfish grin without a ray of kindliness in it. The girl felt her heart turn cold within her every time her eyes fell on the mask-like face.
Mr. Schulz shrugged shoulders.
“Since you insist ...” he remarked. “But I think it is scarcely fair on our friend Dulkinghorn. The letter is in the safe in my office next door. If you come along I will get it out and show it to you ...”
He spoke unconcernedly, but stiffly, as though to emphasize the slight put upon his dignity. One hand thrust jauntily in his jacket pocket, he stepped across the carpet to the door with the blue curtain. He opened it, then stood back for the girl to pass in before him.