Williams grunted his comprehension. He felt rather tenderly toward her, she looked so small and wan and her voice was so pleading. “Where was your book?” he asked. “On the table behind you. I was feeling round for it and I think I pushed it off with the lamp.” “What was the name of it?” “Victory, by Joseph Conrad.” He went to the table. His back turned, she and Bassett exchanged a long look. Williams picked up the book and came back with it. [Pg 148] [Pg 148] “Here it is,” he said, giving it to her. “And just make a note of the fact that you’re not to go round the house at night after books or anything else.” She assured him she would not, she would give them no more trouble, and opening the door she slipped away. They remained without speaking till she came out on the gallery and walked to her room. Bassett stood looking up after she had disappeared, the memory of her face as they burst in upon her added a new peculiar distress to his harrowed state. “Well,” said Williams, “her book was there.” Bassett stared at him: “Was there! Why shouldn’t it be?” Williams gave an upward hitch of his shoulders: “Words come easy, Mr. Bassett.” “Good God!” exclaimed Bassett in horrified amaze. “You have any idea she was lying? If you have, get it out of your head. I’ve known Miss Tracy for three years and she could no more [Pg 149]say what wasn’t true than—well, she couldn’t, that’s all.” [Pg 149] “I don’t think she did. It sounded to me a perfectly straight story.” “It was. You can take my word for that.”
Prev.
Back
Top