Wilbraham,
who did?"

"That cousin of hers you said you knew; Hutton, or whatever you said his
name was," Dudley retorted, like a fool, for Macartney had never
mentioned the man's name. "How, I don't know, but I'm certain of it. He
was more in love with her than Van Ruyne, and more dangerous, for all
you say he was a good sort. Why, he was the kind to stick at nothing.
Miss Valenka had had the sense to turn him down hard; and I believe he
stole that necklace of Van Ruyne's from her during the short time she
had it--either just to get her into trouble and be revenged on her, or
to get her into his power. Whichever it was--to blackmail her--for he'd
cadged on her for money before her father died--or to scare her into
going to him for help--I'd like to hunt the worthless hound down for it.
And I'd never stop till I got him!"

"Like poor old Thompson's murderer," Macartney commented rather drily,
"and with no more foundation." But the thought of Thompson seemed to
have brought his self-command back to him; he tried to smooth Dudley
down. "I don't honestly believe old Thompson could have been murdered,"
he said gently, "or that Miss Valenka's cousin could have stolen those
jewels, for any reason. He seemed a pretty good sort when I knew him in
British Columbia. He was a clever mining engineer, too."

"He might have been the devil for all I care! Only if ever I come across
him I'll get those emeralds out of his skin," Dudley exploded. Paulette
gave one glance at him. It would have killed me; but even Dudley saw how
he was giving himself away to a stranger.

"Why under heaven do you work me up about abstract justice, Macartney?"
he growled. "You know how I lose my temper. Talk about something else,
for goodness sake!"

"Not I--I'm going to bed," Macartney returned casually. Dudley always
did work himself up over things that were none of his business, and the
Valenka argument evidently had not struck his superintendent as anything
out of the ordinary. He nodded and went out. Paulette strayed to the
fireplace, and I saw her handful of papers blaze up before she moved
away. I was thankful when that signature of Tatiana Paulina Valenka was
off the earth, even if Macartney had gone out of the room. Paulette said
good night, and went out on his heels.

I heard Macartney ask her something as she passed him where he stood in
the passage, getting on his coat to go over to the assay office, where
he slept. I thought it was about