eyes closed, his hands clasped in front of him, a picture of a man performing a most painful act of duty.
"I have a warrant" began the detective.
"You need no warrant," said the girl quietly, "you are at liberty to search this flat or bring a woman to search me. I have nothing in these rooms which I am ashamed that you should see."
The detective turned to his companion.
"Fred," he said, "just have a look over that writing-bureau. Is it locked, miss?"
She had closed and locked the secretaire and she handed the man the key. The detective who had done the speaking passed into the bedroom, and the girl heard him pulling out the drawers. She did not move from where she stood confronting her late employer, still preserving his attitude of somnolent detachment.
"Mr. White," she asked quietly, "I have a right to know who accused me of stealing from your firm."
He made no reply.
"Even a criminal has a right to that, you know," she said, recovering some of her poise. "I suppose that you have been missing things for quite a long while—people always miss things for quite a long while before the thief is discovered, according to the Sunday papers."
"I do not read newspapers published on the Lord's Day," said Mr. White reproachfully. "I do not know the habits of the criminal classes, but as you say, and I fear I must convey the gist of your speech to the officers of the law, money has been missed from your department for a considerable time. As to your accuser, acting as—ah—as a good citizen and performing the duties which are associated with good-citizenship, I cannot reveal his, her, or their name."
She was eyeing him curiously with a gleam of dormant laughter in her clear eyes. Then she heard a hurried footstep in the little passage and remembered that the door had been left open and she looked round.
The new-comer was Dr. van Heerden.
"What is this I hear?" he demanded fiercely, addressing White. "You dare accuse Miss Cresswell of theft?"
