"You think I am crazy?" he asked sharply. "That it?"
"No. You are as sane as I am. I don't think that at all. But . . .
Oh, can't you understand?"
"No, I can't. You accuse me of this and that, you give no reasons for
your wild suspicions, you end up by suggesting medical treatment.
What's the answer, Virginia Page?"
"The answer, Roderick Norton, is a very simple one. But first I am
going to ask you another question or so. You sought to commit a theft
to-night, I saw you, so there is no use denying it to me, is there?"
"Go ahead. What next?"
"While you lay ill during a week or ten days you had time to think.
You remember having told me that you had had time to think about
everything in the world? It was at that time, wasn't it, that you came
to the decision which you mentioned to me that a man to commit crime
and play safe at the same time must keep in mind two essential matters:
First, the lone hand; second, not to kill?"
"I thought it out then; yes. In fact, I suppose I told you so."
"The crimes committed recently have been characterized by these two
essentials, haven't they? Nearly all of them?"
He nodded, watching her keenly, holding back his answers for just a
second or two each time.
"I believe so."
"Did you ever have an impulse to steal before you were knocked
unconscious at the Casa Blanca?"
"No.
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