“It’s probably all wrong,” he observed, “but the general impression is that Norton Guestwick is a wild, weak lad for whom you set your snares. And when Mr. Guestwick tried to break it off you asked fifty-thousand dollars in cash as a price.”
“Do you believe that?” she asked looking at him almost piteously.
“It was common report,” he said, seeking to exonerate himself, “I read some of it in Gotham Gossip.”
“And just because of what some spiteful writer said you condemn me unheard.”
He looked at the inviting safe and fidgeted.
“I’m not condemning,” he reminded her. “I don’t know anything about the affair. I don’t yet see why you are here, Miss Grandcourt.”
“Because I have the right to be,” she said, looking him full in the face. “I pretended I was a Miss Guestwick. If you wish to know the truth, I am Mrs. Norton Guestwick. I can show you our marriage certificate. This is the first time I have ever been in the house of my father-in-law.”
“How did you get in?” he demanded. He felt certain that Briggs the butler had shown him into the library believing it to be unoccupied.
“I bribed a servant who used to be in our employ.”
“Your employ?” he queried.