"I saw you take Patten's fountain pen and a scrap of note-paper from
the table by your bed when you were hurt--the first time I called to
see how you were doing. I thought that perhaps there was something of
importance written on the paper, that, if nothing else, you wanted a
bit of Patten's handwriting to use in your proof that he was not the
man he pretended to be. You slipped both pen and paper under your
pillow. Tell me just this: Was that paper of any importance whatever,
of any interest even, to you?"
"No," he said steadily, without hesitation. "It was not. I did not so
much as look at it."
She leaned back in her chair with a long sigh, her eyes wide on his.
And while he marvelled at it, he saw that now her look was one of pure
pity.
"Just what has that got to do with the robberies you mention?"
"Everything!" she burst out. "Everything! Can't you see? Oh, my God!"
She dropped her face into her hands and he saw her shoulders lift and
slump. Glancing aside swiftly, he saw the five golden disks on the
table, almost to be reached from where he sat.
"No doubt," he said hastily, as her head was lifted again, "you think
that you would like to send me to jail?"
"Jail, no! A thousand times no! But you must, you must let me send
you to a hospital!"
He frowned at her while he gave over twirling his hat and grew very
still.
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