Mr. Gryce smiled and opened his pocketbook.
“There is a sample of her hair, sir,” said he, taking out a thin strand of brilliant hair and showing it to the gentleman before him. “Bright you see, and golden as that of the unfortunate creature you talked with the other night.”
Mr. Blake stooped forward and lifted it with a hand that visibly trembled. “Where did you get this?” asked he at last, clenching it to his breast with sudden passion.
“From out of the comb which the girl had been using the night before.”
The imperious man flung it hastily from him.
“We waste our time,” said he, looking Mr. Gryce intently in the face. “All that you have said does not account for your presence here nor the tone you have used while addressing me. What are you keeping back? I am not a man to be trifled with.”
Mr. Gryce rose to his feet. “You are right,” said he, and he gave a short glance in my direction. “All that I have said would not perhaps justify me in this intrusion, if—” he looked again towards me. “Do you wish me to continue?” he asked.
Mr. Blake’s intent look deepened. “I see no reason why you should not utter the whole,” said he. “A good story loses nothing by being told to the end. You wish to say something about my journey to Schoenmaker’s house, I suppose.”
Mr. Gryce gravely shook his head.
“What, you can let such a mystery as that go without a word?”
“I am not here to discuss mysteries that have no connection with the sewing-girl in whose cause I am interested.”
“Then,” said Mr. Blake, turning for the first time upon my superior with all the dignified composure for which he was eminent, “it is no longer necessary for us to prolong this interview. I have allowed, nay encouraged you to state in the plainest terms what it was you had or imagined you had against me, knowing that my actions of late, seen by those who did not possess the key to them, must have seemed a little peculiar. But when you say you have no interest in any mystery disconnected with the girl who has lived the last few months in my house, I can with assurance say that it is time we quitted this unprofitable conversation, as nothing which I have lately done, said or thought here or elsewhere has in any way had even the remotest bearing upon that individual; she having been a stranger to me while in my house, and quite forgotten by me, after her unaccountable departure hence.”
Mr. Gryce’s hand which had been stretched out towards the hitherto untouched decanter before him, suddenly dropped. “You deny then,” said he, “all connection between yourself and the woman, lady or sewing-girl, who occupied that room above our heads for eleven months previous to the Sunday morning I first had the honor to make your acquaintance.”
“I am not in the habit of repeating my assertions,” said Mr. Blake with some severity, “even when they relate to a less disagreeable matter than the one under discussion.”
Mr. Gryce bowed, and slowly reached out for his hat; I had never seen him so disturbed. “I am sorry,” he began and stopped, fingering his hat-brim nervously. Suddenly he laid his hat back, and drew up his form into as near a semblance of dignity as its portliness would allow.
“Mr. Blake,” said he, “I have too much respect for the man I believed you to be when I entered this house tonight, to go with the thing unsaid which is lying at present like a dead weight upon my lips. I dare not leave you to the consequence of my silence; for duty will compel me to speak some day and in some presence where you may not have the opportunity which you can have here, to explain yourself with satisfaction. Mr. Blake I cannot believe you when you say the girl who lived in this house was a stranger to you.”
Mr. Blake drew his proud form up in a disdain that was only held in check by the very evident honesty of the man before him. “You are courageous at least,” said he. “I regret you are not equally discriminating.” And raising Mr. Gryce’s hat he placed it in his hand.
“Pardon me,” said that gentleman, “I would like to justify myself before I go. Not with words,” he proceeded as the other folded his arms with a sarcastic bow. “I am done with words; action accomplishes the rest. Mr. Blake I believe you consider me an honest officer and a reliable man. Will you accompany me to your private room for a moment? There is something there which may convince you I was neither playing the fool nor the bravado when I uttered the phrase I did an instant ago.”
I expected to hear the haughty master of the house refuse a request so peculiar. But he only bowed, though in a surprised way that showed his curiosity if no more was aroused. “My room and company are at your disposal,” said he, “but you will find nothing there to justify you in your assertions.”
“Let me at least make the effort,” entreated my superior.
Mr. Blake smiling bitterly immediately led the way to the door. “The man may come,” he remarked carelessly as Mr. Gryce waved his hand in my direction. “Your justification if not mine may need witnesses.”
Rejoiced at the permission, for my curiosity was by this time raised to fever pitch, I at once followed. Not without anxiety. The assured poise of Mr. Blake’s head seemed to argue that the confidence betrayed by my superior might receive a shock; and I felt it would be a serious blow to his pride to fail now. But once within the room above, my doubts speedily fled. There was that in Mr. Gryce’s face which anyone acquainted with him could not easily mistake. Whatever might be the mysterious something which the room
