had found all questions which concerned his relations with the people here made immeasurably more acute by the attack upon him.
She asked him to come in and stay for luncheon, as they reached her home, but she asked it without urging; at his refusal she moved slowly up the steps; but she halted when she saw that he did not go on.
"Miss Sherrill," he said, looking up at her, "how much money is there in your house?"
She smiled, amused and a little perplexed; then sobered as she saw his intentness on her answer.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean—how much is ordinarily kept there?"
"Why, very little in actual cash. We pay everything by check—tradesmen and servants; and even if we happen not to have a charge account where we make a purchase, they know who we are and are always willing to charge it to us."
"Thank you. It would be rather unusual then for you—or your neighbors—to have currency at hand exceeding the hundreds?"
"Exceeding the hundreds? That means in the thousands—or at least one thousand; yes, for us, it would be quite unusual."
She waited for him to explain why he had asked; it was not, she felt sure, for any reason which could readily suggest itself to her. But he only thanked her again and lifted his hat and moved away. Looking after him from the window after she had entered the house, she saw him turn the corner in the direction of Astor Street.
