s countenance.

"By rights, now, sir," said Mrs. Tams, looking backward through the
open door at the lobby clock.

"Well," Louis remarked with liveliness, "if you aren't outside this
house in one minute, in sixty seconds, I shall put you out, neck and
crop."

Mrs. Tams smiled. His amiability was returning, he had done her the
honour to tease her. She departed, all her "things" being ready in the
kitchen. Even before she had gone Louis went quickly upstairs, having
drunk less than half a cup of tea, and with extraordinary eagerness
plunged into the bedroom and unlocked his private drawer. He both
hoped and feared that the money which he had bestowed there after
Julian's historic visit would have vanished. It had vanished.

The shock was unpleasant, but the discovery itself had a pleasant
side, because it justified the theory which had sprung complete into
his mind when he learnt where Rachel had gone, and also because it
denuded Rachel of all reasonable claim to consideration. He had
said to himself: "She has gone off to return half of that money to
Julian--that's what it is. And she's capable of returning all of it to
him!" ... And she had done so. And she had not consulted him, Louis.
He, then, was a nobody--zero in the house! She had deliberately
filched the money from him, and to accomplish her purpose she had
abstracted his keys, which he had left in his pocket. She must have
stolen the notes several days before, perhaps a week before, when he
was really seriously ill. She had used the keys and restored them to
his pocket. Astounding baseness!

He murmured: "This finishes it. This really does finish it."

He was immensely righteous as he stood alone in the bedroom in front
of the rifled drawer. He was more than righteous--he was a martyr. He
had done absolutely nothing that was wrong. He had not stolen money;
he had not meant to steal; the more he examined his conduct, the more
he was convinced that it had been throughout unexceptionable, whereas
the conduct of Rachel ...! At every point she had sinned. It was she,
not he, who had burnt Mrs. Maldon's hoard. Was it not monstrous that a
woman should be so careless as to light a fire without noticing that
a bundle of notes lay on the top of the coal? Besides, what affair
was it of hers, anyway? It concerned himself, Mrs. Maldon, and Julian,
alone. But she must needs interfere. She had not a penny to bless
herself with, but he had magnanimously married her; and h