"Tell me first, Katie," he said kindly, "why do you think I want to
put you in prison? Because of the money? Never mind that. I want to
talk to you of something else."

But Katie was hysterically tugging at the neck of her gown. From
inside her bodice she took a tiny chamois skin bag, and ripping it
open took out a carefully folded bill and handed it to Dicky.

"I never spend that money," she said. "I never mean to steal it. But
I had to go away queeck from your flat and I never, never dare come
back, give you the money. After two month, send my cousin to the flat,
but he say you move, no know where. There I always keep the money
here. I think maybe some time I find out where you live and write a
letter to you, send the money."

Dicky took the bill and unfolded it curiously. A brown stain ran
irregularly across one-half of it.

"Well, I'll be eternally blessed," he ejaculated, "if it isn't the
identical bill I gave her. Ten-dollar bills were not so plentiful
three years ago, and I remember this one so distinctly because of the
stain. The boys used to say I must have murdered somebody to get it,
and that it was stained with blood."

He turned to Katie again.

"The money is nothing, Katie. Why did you run away that day? I never
have been able to finish that picture since."

Katie's eyes dropped. Her cheeks flushed.