Beresford's smile was winning. "Is it because she hates you that she wants you to come to supper to-night?"
"It's because she's in debt to me—or thinks she is, for of course she isn't—and wants to pay it and get rid of it as soon as she can. I tell you, Win, she couldn't bear to touch my hand when she gave me the key to the storehouse the other night—laid it down on the table for me to pick up. It has actually become physical with her. She'd shudder if I touched her. I'm not going to supper there. Why should I take advantage of a hold I have on her generosity? No, I'll not go."
And from that position Beresford could not move him.
After supper the constable found a chance to see Jessie alone. She was working over the last touches of the gun-case.
"When it's finished who gets it?" he asked, sitting down gracefully on the arm of a big chair.
She flashed a teasing glance at him. "Who do you think deserves it?"
"I deserve it," he assured her at once. "But it isn't the deserving always who get the rewards in this world. Very likely you'll give it to some chap like Tom Morse."
"Who wouldn't come to supper when we asked him." She lifted steady, inquiring eyes. "What was the real reason he didn't come?"
"Said he couldn't get away from the store because—"
"Yes, I heard that. I'm asking for the real reason, Win."