new fear, he could see that. It was something expected—something that was always there.
She nodded her head slowly. “And you’re from the police⸺”
He laughed reassuringly, longing to take her in his arms and swear to protect her forever.
“Certainly not—I’m from Valentine Morley. You see, I happened to be looking through the books and I found something in one of them that might be of value to you—that’s why I took the trouble to look you up.” He plunged his hand into his pocket and fished out his wallet. Out of his wallet he took the ten thousand dollar bill and handed it to her.
She gave a gasp of utter astonishment and surprise when she saw what it was.
“Why, it’s a ten—thousand—dollar bill!” she ejaculated. “A ten thousand dollar bill!”
He nodded his head. “I rather thought you might be glad to see that⸺”
“Glad!” she echoed, “Why, if you know—if you only knew how I needed this money⸺”
“Yes,” he said, “there are few people who don’t need ten thousand dollars.”
“How can I thank you for⸺” she began.
“Don’t try,” he put in. “It was nothing, really. Just a pleasure to be able to⸺”
“Not many people would have returned it,” she insisted. “You must know how grateful I am to you.” She leaned forward and put her small hand on his arm. A thrill went through him. He remembered Browning’s line about the hand of the wife of Andrea del Sarto—he was a Browning enthusiast—“A woman in itself.” That’s what her hand was, he told himself—a woman in itself, in its beautiful, soft and shapely whiteness.
