“This,” said Jake.  “Just the fact that she’s a girl needing protection and that I—­can give it.”

“Are you so sure of that?” gibed Saltash.  “I think you forget, don’t you, that I was her first protector?  No one—­not even Bunny—­could have got near her without my consent.”

“She was your find right enough,” Jake admitted.  “I always knew that—­knew from the first you’d faked up a lie about her.  But I hoped—­I even believed—­that you were doing it for her sake—­not your own.”

“Well?” flung Saltash.  “And if I was?”

“And if you were,” said Jake, “it was a thing worth doing—­worth sticking to.  Bunny is a respectable citizen.  He’d have married her—­made her happy.”

Saltash’s mouth twisted.  “Bunny had his chance—­missed it,” he said.  “He’ll know better next time.  I’m not troubling about Bunny.  He didn’t deserve to win.”

“And so you decided to play him a damn trick and cut him out?” said Jake.

Saltash snapped his fingers.  “I did my best for him, but I couldn’t push him through against his will.  Why didn’t he come after her when he found she had gone?  Didn’t he know where to look?”

“Just because he knew,” said Jake.

Saltash moved abruptly.  “Damnation!  You shall have what you’ve come for.  If seeing is believing—­then you shall believe—­that even Charles Burchester can protect a girl at a pinch from the snares of the virtuous!” He pulled an envelope from an inner pocket, and flung it with a passionate gesture upon the table in front of Jake.

Jake’s eyes, red-brown and steady, marked the action and contemplated him thereafter for several silent seconds.  Then, at length, very slowly.  “Maybe—­after all—­I don’t need to see, my lord,” he said.  “Maybe—­I’ve made a mistake.”

He spoke with the utmost quietness, but his manner had undergone a change.  It held a hint of deference.  He made no move to touch the envelope upon the table.

Saltash’s brows went up.  “Satisfied?” he questioned curtly.

“On that point, yes.”  Jake continued to look at him with a close and searching regard.

“Not on all points?” Saltash flicked the ash from his cigarette with a movement of exasperation.

Jake turned and slowly walked to the window.  There fell a silence between them.  He stood staring down upon the scene that Toby had gazed upon a little earlier, but he saw nothing of it.  The hardness had gone out of his face, and a deep compassion had taken its place.

Saltash continued to smoke for several restless seconds.  Finally, he dropped the end of his cigarette into a tray and spoke.

“Anything more I can do for you?”

Jake wheeled in his massive way, and came back.  “Say!” he said slowly.  “I’m kind of sorry for that little girl.”

Saltash made an abrupt movement that passed unexplained.  “Well?” he said.

Jake faced him squarely.  “If I’d been at home,” he said, “this would never have happened.  Or if it had happened—­if it had happened—­” He paused.