"Was I wrong in not trying to stop him?" he asked.
She pondered this for a moment. "No," she said, but he caught the
dubious note in her voice. "It is just as well, perhaps, that he
should disappear. Nothing is to be gained now by his seizure. Next
week, yes; but to-day, no. His flight to-day spares--but we are more
interested in the man Sprouse. Has he returned?"
"No, Miss Cameron," said he ruefully. And then, without a single
reservation, he laid bare the story of Sprouse's defection. When he
inquired if she had heard of the man known as Chester Naismith, she
confirmed his worst fears by describing him as the guard who watched
beneath her window. He was known to her as a thief of international
fame. The light died out of her lovely eyes as the truth dawned upon
her; her lips trembled, her shoulders drooped.
"What a fool I've been," she mourned. "What a fool I was to accept the
responsibility of--"
"Don't blame yourself," he implored. "Blame me. I am the fool, the
stupidest fool that ever lived. He played with me as if I were the
simplest child."
"Ah, my friend, why do you say that? Played with you? He has tricked
some of the shrewdest men in the world.
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