man do a thing like that? How could he—could he?"
Gregg could endure no more emotion. "Like this?" he said, brandishing Rinderfeld's paper. "This is Rinderfeld's business, Bill. He does it all the time; and he's done us a good job, I'd say. That double lie alone is worth his price—whatever he charges for it. Giving the neighbors something to find out that will satisfy them when they've got it; now you and I, Bill, never would have figured out that. It's got to come from experience."
Billy stared, not hearing. "I mean Mr. Hale, Gregg! How could he do a thing like that?"
"Oh," Gregg said, as though recollecting. "Mr. Hale was up against something, Bill. He had about three things he could do; one and two others. I suppose maybe he tried the first for a while and then got tired sticking it or—something made him mad, maybe. That left him the choice of the other two; and I suppose he chose the one which he figured showed more consideration to his wife."
Billy gaped. "What did you say?"
Gregg repeated it; but Billy continued to stare as though Gregg had gone mad. "Why, Gregg"
"That's all right and I'm all right too," Gregg assured. "I'm going to get some sleep now. You'd better make a stab at it, too. G'night, Bill. I forgot one thing. I'm glad, Bill."
"Glad? You are crazy, then?"
"About Marjorie and you, old fellow."
"Oh!"
"'Night, Bill." Then Gregg withdrew and, returning to his own room, for the first time he locked his door against Bill; for he knew that pretty soon Bill was coming to demand an explanation; and he didn't
