was not catechised very much; but in this
temporary feeling of satisfaction he forgot the scraps of paper in his
vest pocket--though not for long. He hung his coat and vest on a hook
and started into the bedroom to get himself a fresh collar and tie.
While he was in there Angela passed the bathroom door. She was always
interested in Eugene's clothes, how they were wearing, but tonight there
were other thoughts in her mind. Hastily and by intuition she went
through his pockets, finding the torn scraps, then for excuse took his
coat and vest down to clean certain spots. At the same moment Eugene
thought of his letter. He came hurrying out to get it, or the pieces,
rather, but Angela already had them and was looking at them curiously.

"What was that?" she asked, all her suspicious nature on the _qui vive_
for additional proof. Why should he keep the torn fragments of a letter
in his pocket? For days she had had a psychic sense of something
impending. Everything about him seemed strangely to call for
investigation. Now it was all coming out.

"Nothing," he said nervously. "A memorandum. Throw it in the paper box."

Angela noted the peculiarity of his voice and manner. She was taken by
the guilty expression of his eyes. Something was wrong. It concerned
these scraps of paper. Maybe it was in these she would be able to read
the riddle of his conduct. The woman's name might be in here. Like a
flash it came to her that she might piece these scraps together, but
there was another thought equally swift which urged her to pretend
indifference. That might help her. Pretend now and she would know more
later. She threw them in the paper box, thinking to piece them together
at her leisure. Eugene noted her hesitation, her suspicion. He was
afraid she would do something, what he could not guess. He breathed more
easily when the papers fluttered into the practically empty box, but he
was nervous. If they were only burned! He did not think she would
attempt to put them together, but he was afraid. He would have given
anything if his sense of romance had not led him into this trap.

CHAPTER XXVII

Angela was quick to act upon her thought. No sooner had Eugene entered
the bath than she gathered up the pieces, threw other bits of paper like
them in their place and tried quickly to piece them together on the
ironing board where she was. It was not difficult; the scraps were not
small. On one triangular bit were the words, "Oh,