"Oh, no! And you can prevent my ever being sorry, if you will."
It was useless to begin the old argument. I went down to see if the carriage was ready. Wesson sat in the hallway, where the draft of air was strongest, and did not see me until I was close to him. When he realized my proximity he closed the book in his hands with a bang and looked much confused. But he had not performed the action quickly enough for his purpose.
It was a copy of "Our Rival the Rascal," undoubtedly the one Eggert had missed just before we left St. Thomas.
I said nothing, but I thought a great deal. A man who would steal one thing would steal another. If Wesson had carried off that book from the dining room of my host Eggert--
A mile from the hotel I decided to convey to my companion's mind the suspicions that filled my own.
"You remember that book I had one evening at Eggert's--the book you did not wish to look at," I began.
"That horrible thing!" she exclaimed, with a shiver, nodding an affirmative.
"Just before we left Eggert's, you know, he missed the volume. Nobody had been in the house except you and me, and Wesson. Eggert knew me too well to suspect that I would be guilty of such a theft, and yet he was puzzled. Why, Marjorie, what is the matter with you?"
My last expression was called forth by a strange look on the face of my companion. She fell against me as if too weak to sit up, and yet her eyes were open and not devoid of intelligence.
"My darling!" I cried. "You are ill. Let us return at once."
"No," she said, in a whisper. "It is only temporary. But please say nothing more about the book. If anybody took it--ugh!--it must have been by accident."
"But, my dear," I explained, when she seemed more comfortable, "you must let me tell you of a discovery I have made. I saw that book--"
Rousing herself with difficulty Miss May looked me in the eyes like a sleep-walker.
"Don!" she said, vehemently. "Don! Sometimes you tell me you love me! How can you then persist in this torture! I cannot bear to think of that book, to hear it spoken of! You may call me foolish, and probably I am. There are women who are afraid of snakes, lizards, rats; not one of those creatures could disturb my nerves. But when I think of men that live by crime, that rob and steal--and murder--it is as if the hands of one of them was on my own throat!"