"I came on my own part to tell you that any expression of gratitude
is entirely unnecessary," said Coombe.
"I MUST be grateful. I AM grateful." Robin's colour slowly faded
as she said it. This was the first time she had seen him since he
had supported her down the staircase which mounted to a place of
hell.
"There is nothing to which I should object so much as being regarded
as a benefactor," he answered definitely, but with entire lack of
warmth. "The role does not suit me. Being an extremely bad man," he
said it as one who speaks wholly without prejudice, "my experience
is wide. I chance to know things. The woman who called herself
Lady Etynge is of a class which--which does not count me among its
clients. I had put certain authorities on her track--which was how
I discovered your whereabouts when Mademoiselle Valle told me that
you had gone to take tea with her. Mere chance you see. Don't be
grateful to me, I beg of you, but to Mademoiselle Valle."
"Why," faltered Robin, vaguely repelled as much as ever, "did it
matter to you?"
"Because," he answered--Oh, the cold inhumanness of his gray
eye!--"you happened to live in--this house."
"I thought that was perhaps the reason," she said--and she felt
that he made her "creep" even a shade more.
"I beg your pardon," she added, suddenly remembering, "Please sit
down."
"Thank you," as he sat.
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