GENTLEMAN IN HIS
EVENING CLOTHES WAS STANDING THERE.
"Just sit still, please," he said, in a perfectly cold voice. And
he turned and locked the door into the hall. I was absolutely
unable to speak. I tried once, but my tongue hit the roof of my
mouth like the clapper of a bell.
"Now," he said, when he had turned around. "I wish you would tell
me some good reason why I should not hand you over to the Police."
"Oh, please don't!" I said.
"That's eloquent. But not a reason. I'll sit down and give you a
little time. I take it, you did not expect to find me here."
"I'm in the wrong apartment. That's all," I said. "Maybe you'll
think that's an excuse and not a reason. I can't help it if you do."
"Well," he said, "that explains some things. It's pretty well
known, I fancy, that I have little worth stealing, except my good name."
"I was not stealing," I replied in a sulky manner.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "It IS an ugly word. We will strike
it from the record. Would you mind telling me whose apartment you
intended to--er--investigate? If this is the wrong one, you know."
"I was looking for a Letter."
"Letters, letters!" he said. "When will you women learn not to
write letters. Although"--he looked at me closely--"you look rather
young for that sort of thing." He sighed. "It's born in you, I
daresay," he said.
Well, for all his patronizing ways, he was not very old himself.
"Of course," he said, "if you are telling the truth--and it sounds
fishy, I must say--it's hardly a Police matter, is it? It's rather
one for diplomasy. But can you prove what you say?"
"My word should be suficient," I replied stiffly. "How do I know
that YOU belong here?"
"Well, you don't, as a matter of fact. Suppose you take my word for
that, and I agree to beleive what you say about the wrong
apartment, Even then it's rather unusual. I find a pale and
determined looking young lady going through my desk in a
business-like manner. She says she has come for a Letter. Now the
question is, is there a Letter? If so, what Letter?"
"It is a love letter," I said.
"Don't blush over such a confession," he said. "If it is true, be
proud of it. Love is a wonderful thing. Never be ashamed of being
in love, my ."
"I am not in love," I cried with bitter furey.
"Ah! Then it is not YOUR letter!"
"I wrote it."
"But to simulate a passion that does not exist--that is
sackrilege. It is----"
"Oh, stop talking," I cried, in a hunted tone. "I can't bear it. If
you are going to arrest me, get it over."
"I'd rather NOT arrest you, if we can find a way out. You look so
young, so new to Crime! Even your excuse for being here is so
naive, that I--won't you tell me why you wrote a love letter, if
you are not in love? And whom you sent it to? That's important, you
see, as it bears on the case. I intend," he said, "to be
judgdicial, unimpassioned, and quite fair."
".