THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
Burlinghams, the Corrigan girl and himself; the tale mustn't go any farther.
The house in Seventy-second Street was gone, doubly gone. In the first place, it had been bought and paid for in good faith; in the second place, he would have cut his hand off rather than have told that girl. Why? He asked himself this question in a kind of detached wonder. Why should he consider her? For what reason should he hold back the truth from her? After all, he had no war with her. If he told her it would only worry her, make her unhappy, without benefiting himself in the least. In law the house and all its contents were hers, and she would have no difficulty in defending her title.
From Bordman's office he proceeded to the banks and annulled the power of attorney and examined the lock-boxes in the vaults. He went back mentally to that painful epoch prior to his departure for the Orient. The mortgages had no place in his recollections. Anyhow, Bordman hadn't them; the interest checks certified that. Bordman might have left them at the Concord, among his discarded effects. Later he would obtain the right of search.
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