Vance was quick to sense the change in her tone. Taking advantage of her rage, he had mentioned the security while the barriers of her pose were down. Her frightened, almost involuntary query told him that the right moment had arrived. Before she could gain her equilibrium or dispel the momentary fear which had assailed her, he said, with suave deliberation:
"The day Mr. Benson was shot he took home with him from the office a small blue box of jewels."
She caught her breath, but otherwise gave no outward sign of emotion.
"Do you think he had stolen them?"
The moment she had uttered the question she realized that it was a mistake in technique. An ordinary man might have been momentarily diverted from the truth by it. But by Vance's smile she recognized that he had accepted it as an admission.
"It was rather fine of you, y' know, to lend Mr. Pfyfe your jewels to cover the note with."
At this she threw her head up. The blood had left her face, and the rouge on her cheeks took on a mottled and unnatural hue.
"You say I lent my jewels to Andy! I swear to you"
Vance halted her denial with a slight movement of the hand and a coup d'œil. She saw that his intention was to save her from the humiliation she might feel later at having made too emphatic and unqualified a statement; and the graciousness of his action, although he was an antagonist, gave her more confidence in him.
