He's a good man. You can
see that in his face."
"You can perhaps. I can't." Valencia studied her beneath a droop
of eyelids behind which she was very alert. "Those things aren't
said about a man unless they are true. Moreover, it happens we
don't have to depend on hearsay."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember that night we saw the Russian dancers?"
"Yes."
"On the way home our car passed him. He was helping a woman out of
a cab in front of the building where he rooms. She was
intoxicated, and--his arm was round her waist."
"I don't believe it. It was somebody else," the young woman
flamed.
"His cousin recognized him. So did I."
"There must be some explanation. I'll ask him."
"Ask him!" Valencia's level eyebrows lifted "Really, I don't think
that will do. Better quietly eliminate him."
"You mean treat him as if he were guilty when, I am sure he is
not."
Mrs. Van Tyle's little laugh rippled out. "You're quite dramatic
about it, my dear. The man's of no importance. He's a _poseur_, a
demagogue, and one with a vicious streak in him. I understand, of
course, that you're interested only because he different from the
other men you know.
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