would be, from the way he behaved about the burglary. Was he?" she
persisted, seeing that Hewson hesitated.

"Yes, I must say he was."

There was a sound of walking to and fro in the adjoining room, a quick
shutting as of trunk-lids, a noise as of a skirt shaken out, and steps
advanced to the door. Miss Hernshaw ran to it and turned the key in the
lock. "Not yet, Mrs. Rock," she called to the unseen presence within, and
she explained to Hewson, as she faced him again, "She promised that I
should have it all out with you myself, and now I'm not going to have her
in here, interrupting. Well, did he write to you?"

"Yes, he wrote to me. He wanted me to deny the story."

"And did you?"

"Of course not!" said Hewson, with a note of indignation. "It was true.
Besides it wouldn't have been of any use."

"No, it would have been wicked and it would have been useless. And then
what did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? And you have never heard another word from him?"

"Yes, he came to see me last night."

"Here in New York? Is he here yet?"