THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
That patient, kindly little old man? It isn't possible!"
"I wish it wasn't. I shouldn't risk calling a man a thief unless I had sufficient grounds for doing so, Miss Corrigan. Please tell me what you can about him."
"I came to work as usual one morning in April and couldn't get in. I went for Morrissy and got his key. Mr. Bordman was always here at eight, and I came in at half past eight. I thought perhaps he was ill, so I called up his apartments. He had gone away the night before with a lot of luggage. It was rather odd, but I credited it to some hasty out-of-town call. I came down every day for a week; but as no news whatever came in I was forced to give up. I secured my present position. That is all I honestly know. But Mr. Bordman a thief? I can't get that through my head."
"Nevertheless, it's a fact, a bitter one to me. He sold my house, furnished, for eighty thousand in April."
"Let me think," she said, drumming on the desk with her pencil and frowning at the skyscraper across the street.
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