Do you believe them? Do you believe--it's
rather a horrible thing to ask, isn't it?" she went on hurriedly,
--"do you believe that I made away with my husband?"
"You surely do not need to ask me that question," Tavernake
answered, fervently. "I should believe your word, whatever you
told me. I should not believe that you could do anything wrong."
Her hand touched his for a moment and he was repaid.
"Don't think too well of me," she begged. "I don't want to
disappoint you."
Some one pushed open the swing doors and she started nervously.
It was only a waiter who passed through into the bar.
"What I think of you," Tavernake said slowly, "nothing could
alter, but because I am stupid, I suppose, there is quite a good
deal that I cannot understand. I cannot understand, for
instance, why they should suspect you of having anything to do
with your husband's disappearance. You can prove where you were
when he left you?"
"Quite easily," she answered, "only, unfortunately, no one seems
to have seen him go. He timed his departure so cunningly that he
apparently vanished into thin air. Even then," she continued,
"but for one thing I don't suppose that any one would have had
suspicions. I dare say Mr. Pritchard told you that before we
left New York my husband sold out some of his property and
brought it over to Europe with him in cash. We had both
determined that we would live abroad and have nothing more to do
with America.
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