“Turn it,” he commanded. “I
can’t reach it.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind,” I
said shrewishly. “Let me down; I can walk
perfectly well.”
He hesitated. Then he slid me slowly to my feet,
but he did not open the door at once. “Are
you afraid to let me carry you down those stairs,
after—Tuesday night?” he asked, very
low. “You still think I did that?”
I had never been less sure of it than at that moment,
but an imp of perversity made me retort, “Yes.”
He hardly seemed to hear me. He stood looking
down at me as I leaned against the door frame.
“Good Lord!” he groaned. “To
think that I might have killed you!” And then—he
stooped and suddenly kissed me.
The next moment the door was open, and he was leading
me down into the house. At the foot of the staircase
he paused, still holding my hand, and faced me in
the darkness.
“I’m not sorry,” he said steadily.
“I suppose I ought to be, but I’m not.
Only—I want you to know that I was not guilty—before.
I didn’t intend to now. I am—almost
as much surprised as you are.”
I was quite unable to speak, but I wrenched my hand
loose. He stepped back to let me pass, and I
went down the hall alone.
I didn’t go to the drawing room again.
I went into my own room and sat in the dark, and tried
to be furiously angry, and only succeeded in feeling
queer and tingly. One thing was absolutely certain:
not the same man, but two different men had kissed
me on the stairs to the roof. It sounds rather
horrid and discriminating, but there was all the difference
in the world.
But then—who had? And for whom had
Mr. Harbison been waiting on the roof? “Did
you know that I nearly choked you to death a few minutes
ago?” Then he rather expected to finish somebody
in that way! Who? Jim, probably. It
was strange, too, but suddenly I realized that no
matter how many suspicious things I mustered up against
him—and there were plenty—down
in my heart I didn’t believe him guilty of anything,
except this last and unforgivable offense. Whoever
was trying to leave the house had taken the necklace,
that seemed clear, unless Max was still foolishly
trying to break quarantine and create one of the sensations
he so dearly loves. This was a new idea, and
some things upheld it, but Max had been playing bridge
when I was kissed on the stairs, and there was still
left that ridiculous incident of the comfort.
Bella came up after I had gone to bed, and turned
on the light to brush her hair.
“If I don’t leave this mausoleum soon,
I’ll be carried out,” she declared.
“You in bed, Lollie Mercer and Dal flirting,
Anne hysterical, and Jim making his will in the den!
You will have to take Aunt Selina tonight, Kit; I’m
all in.”
“If you’ll put her to bed, I’ll
keep her there,” I conceded, after some parley.
