She was aware of Brent’s blue eyes lighting up with a flicker of shrewdness and humour.
“No, I did not come back to rob you.”
“I had not accused you of that.”
“If the thought was there, it was natural.”
She felt ashamed of having asked him that question, and her face softened.
“It is all so strange. You come back as a Frenchman, and in French clothes.”
“That’s of no importance,” he said; “there is only one thing that matters at this moment—the proof that I did not rob you.”
“But—wait——”
She caught his arm as he turned to fetch a rusty spade he had seen lying among the rubbish in the yard.
“Supposing someone else had found it—and taken it away?”