“You put the incriminating evidence in del Rio’s trunk,” she ran on hurriedly.  “The canvas bags of gold.  Didn’t you?”

“Reason?” he insisted equably.

“You took Caleb Patten’s fountain pen!  I saw you.”

He lifted his brows at her.  Then he laughed softly.

“In the first place,” he replied thoughtfully, “I really believe that he is not Caleb at all but Charles Patten.  We’ll talk of that later, however.  In the second place isn’t it rather humorous to wind up by accusing a man with the theft of a fountain pen after your other charges?”

“Answer one question,” she urged earnestly.  “Please.  It is only a small matter.  Give me your word of honor that you will answer it truthfully.”

He was very grave as he sat for a moment, head down, twirling his big hat in slow fingers.  Then he smiled again as he looked up.

“Either truthfully or not at all,” he promised her.  “My word of honor.”

She was plainly excited as she set him her question, seeming at once eager and afraid to have his response.

“I saw you take Patten’s fountain pen and a scrap of note-paper from the table by your bed when you were hurt—­the first time I called to see how you were doing.  I thought that perhaps there was something of importance written on the paper, that, if nothing else, you wanted a bit of Patten’s handwriting to use in your proof that he was not the man he pretended to be.  You slipped both pen and paper under your pillow.  Tell me just this:  Was that paper of any importance whatever, of any interest even, to you?”

“No,” he said steadily, without hesitation.  “It was not.  I did not so much as look at it.”

She leaned back in her chair with a long sigh, her eyes wide on his.  And while he marvelled at it, he saw that now her look was one of pure pity.

“Just what has that got to do with the robberies you mention?”

“Everything!” she burst out.  “Everything!  Can’t you see?  Oh, my God!”

She dropped her face into her hands and he saw her shoulders lift and slump.  Glancing aside swiftly, he saw the five golden disks on the table, almost to be reached from where he sat.

“No doubt,” he said hastily, as her head was lifted again, “you think that you would like to send me to jail?”

“Jail, no!  A thousand times no!  But you must, you must let me send you to a hospital!”

He frowned at her while he gave over twirling his hat and grew very still.

“You think I am crazy?” he asked sharply.  “That it?”

“No.  You are as sane as I am.  I don’t think that at all.  But . . .  Oh, can’t you understand?”

“No, I can’t.  You accuse me of this and that, you give no reasons for your wild suspicions, you end up by suggesting medical treatment.  What’s the answer, Virginia Page?”

“The answer, Roderick Norton, is a very simple one.  But first I am going to ask you another question or so.  You sought to commit a theft to-night, I saw you, so there is no use denying it to me, is there?”