She went straight down to the big living room and drew Vance away, mindless of her guests. He came humming until he was past the door and in the shadowy hall. Then he touched her arm, suddenly grown serious.  
"What's wrong, Elizabeth?"
 
Her voice was low, vibrating with fierceness. And Vance blessed the dimness of the hall, for he could feel the blood recede¹ from his face and the sweat stand on his forehead.
 
"Vance, if you've done what I think you've done, you're lower than a snake, and more poisonous and more treacherous². And I'll cut you out of my heart and my life. You know what I mean?"
 
It was really the first important crisis that he had ever faced. And now his heart grew small, cold. He knew, miserably³, his own cowardice⁴. And like all cowards, he fell back on bold lying to carry him through. It was a triumph that he could make his voice steady—more than steady. He could even throw the right shade of disgust into it.
 
"Is this another one of your tantrums, Elizabeth? By heavens, I'm growing tired of 'em. You continually throw in my face that you hold the strings⁵ of the purse. Well, tie them up as far as I'm concerned. I won't whine⁶. I'd rather have that happen than be tyrannized over any longer."
 
She was much shaken. And there was a sting in this reproach that carried home to her; there was just a sufficient edge of truth to wound her. Had there been much light, she could have read his face; the dimness of the hall was saving Vance, and he knew it.
 
"God knows I'd like to believe that you haven't had anything to do with it. But you and I are the only two people in the world who know the secret of it—"
 
He pretended to guess. "It's something about Terence? Something about his father?"
 
Again she was disarmed⁷. If he were guilty, it was strange that he should approach the subject so openly. And she began to doubt.
 
"Vance, he knows everything! Everything except the real name of Black
Jack⁹!"
"Good heavens!"
 
She strained her eyes through the shadows to make out his real expression; but there seemed to be a real horror in his restrained whisper.
 
"It isn't possible, Elizabeth!"
 
"It came in that letter. That letter I wanted to open, and which you persuaded me not to!" She mustered¹⁰ all her damning facts one after another. "And it was postmarked from Craterville. Vance, you have been in Craterville lately!"
 
He seemed to consider.
 
"Could I have told anyone? Could I, possibly? No, Elizabeth, I'll give you my word of honor that I've never spoken a syllable¹¹ about that subject to anyone!"
 
"Ah, but what have you written?"
 
"I've never put pen to paper. But—how did it happen?"
 
He had control of himself now. His voice was steadier. He could feel her recede from her aggressiveness.
 
"It was dated after you left Craterville, of course. And—I can't stand imagining that you could be so low. Only, who else would have a motive¹²?"
 
"But how was it done?"
 
"They sent him an article about his father and a picture of Black Jack that happens to look as much like Terry as two peas."
 
"Then I have it! If the picture looks like Terry, someone took it for granted that he'd be interested in the similarity. That's why it was sent. Unless they told him that he was really Black Jack's son. Did the person who sent the letter do that?"
 
"There was no letter. Only a magazine clipping and the photograph of the painting."
 
They were both silent. Plainly she had dismissed all idea of her brother's guilt⁸.
 
"But what are we going to do, Elizabeth? And how has he taken it?"
 
"Like poison, Vance. He—he burned all the Colby pictures. Oh, Vance, twenty-four years of work are thrown away!"
 
"Nonsense! This will all straighten out. I'm glad he's found out. Sooner or later he was pretty sure to. Such things will come to light."
 
"Vance, you'll help me? You'll forgive me for accusing you, and you'll help me to keep Terry in hand for the next few days? You see, he declared that he will not............