“Turn it,” he commanded.  “I can’t reach it.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind,” I said shrewishly.  “Let me down; I can walk perfectly well.”

He hesitated.  Then he slid me slowly to my feet, but he did not open the door at once.  “Are you afraid to let me carry you down those stairs, after—­Tuesday night?” he asked, very low.  “You still think I did that?”

I had never been less sure of it than at that moment, but an imp of perversity made me retort, “Yes.”

He hardly seemed to hear me.  He stood looking down at me as I leaned against the door frame.

“Good Lord!” he groaned.  “To think that I might have killed you!” And then—­he stooped and suddenly kissed me.

The next moment the door was open, and he was leading me down into the house.  At the foot of the staircase he paused, still holding my hand, and faced me in the darkness.

“I’m not sorry,” he said steadily.  “I suppose I ought to be, but I’m not.  Only—­I want you to know that I was not guilty—­before.  I didn’t intend to now.  I am—­almost as much surprised as you are.”

I was quite unable to speak, but I wrenched my hand loose.  He stepped back to let me pass, and I went down the hall alone.

Chapter XVIII.  IT’S ALL MY FAULT

I didn’t go to the drawing room again.  I went into my own room and sat in the dark, and tried to be furiously angry, and only succeeded in feeling queer and tingly.  One thing was absolutely certain:  not the same man, but two different men had kissed me on the stairs to the roof.  It sounds rather horrid and discriminating, but there was all the difference in the world.

But then—­who had?  And for whom had Mr. Harbison been waiting on the roof?  “Did you know that I nearly choked you to death a few minutes ago?” Then he rather expected to finish somebody in that way!  Who?  Jim, probably.  It was strange, too, but suddenly I realized that no matter how many suspicious things I mustered up against him—­and there were plenty—­down in my heart I didn’t believe him guilty of anything, except this last and unforgivable offense.  Whoever was trying to leave the house had taken the necklace, that seemed clear, unless Max was still foolishly trying to break quarantine and create one of the sensations he so dearly loves.  This was a new idea, and some things upheld it, but Max had been playing bridge when I was kissed on the stairs, and there was still left that ridiculous incident of the comfort.

Bella came up after I had gone to bed, and turned on the light to brush her hair.

“If I don’t leave this mausoleum soon, I’ll be carried out,” she declared.  “You in bed, Lollie Mercer and Dal flirting, Anne hysterical, and Jim making his will in the den!  You will have to take Aunt Selina tonight, Kit; I’m all in.”

“If you’ll put her to bed, I’ll keep her there,” I conceded, after some parley.