"Motive?" I asked dully.
"Poverty," Max threw at me. "Oh, I mean comparative poverty, of course.
Who is this fellow, anyhow? Dal knew him at school, traveled with him
through India. On the strength of that he brings him here, quarters him
with decent people, and wonders when they are systematically robbed!"
"You are unjust!" I said, rising and facing him. "I do not like Mr.
Harbison--I--I hate him, if you want to know. But as to his being a
thief, I--think it is quite as likely that you took the necklace."
Max threw his cigarette into the fire angrily.
"So that is how it is!" he mocked. "If either of us is the thief, it is
I! You DO hate him, don't you?"
I left him there, flushed with irritation, and joined the others. Just
as I entered the room, Betty burst through the hall door like a cyclone,
and collapsed into a chair. "She's a mean, cantankerous old woman!" she
declared, feeling for her handkerchief. "You can take care of your own
Aunt Selina, Jim Wilson. I will never go near her again."
"What did you do? Poison her?" Dallas asked with interest.
"G--got camphor in her eyes," snuffed Betty. "You never--heard such a
noise. I wouldn't be a trained nurse for anything in the world. She--she
called me a hussy!"
"You're not going to give her up, are you, Betty?" Jim asked
imploringly. But Betty was, and said so plainly.
"Anyhow, she won't have me back," she finished, "and she has sent
for--guess!"
"Have mercy!" Dal cried, dropping to his knees. "Oh, fair ministering
angel, she has not sent for me!"
"No," Betty said maliciously. "She wants Bella--she's crazy about her."