he is trying to win you by doing the _othello_ stunt on paper.marcreta appeared to weigh the suggestion.i dont think it is entirely that.he wants money very badly.he has to have money, a lot of it, for this hotel venture, and he is trying every means of getting it.ive always been led to believe, clinton interposed, my friends who write have always led me to believe that storywriting (and i assume that this was some sort of story) is rather an uncertain means of capitalization for a novice.but this story was not written by a novice, clint.marcretas voice had sunk suddenly almost to a whisper.it was written by by whom? roger kenwick.clinton morgan stiffened in his chair._what?_ he cried.you mean to say that he had the nerve to steal the thing and bring it out under his own name? he is too clever to bring it out under his own name.he chose a fictitious name, and he changed the opening paragraph.but except for that and the alteration of the title, i pledge you my word, clint, that that story is exactly as roger kenwick read it to me, before he went into the service.there was a moment of silence.clinton was recalling what she had said when he came in about ghosts.he scanned her face uneasily.and he saw in it the new expression which had startled richard glover.for the first time in his life he began to think of her as she might be if she were unhampered by physical infirmity.and then he fell to wondering what had passed between her and kenwick; just how far the tragedy of his life had affected her.the morgan reserve had kept her completely silent upon this subject and he had never had any wish to intrude himself into her confidence.he picked up the thread of the story where she had dropped it.how could it have happened? and how did he dare? i cant even make a guess at how it happened, but so far as daring goeswell, as i said, he is desperate for money.and the thing, as looked at from his point of view, was not so very risky.why should it be? he must have discovered in some way that thethe author was not a possible source of trouble.and who else could care about it? never in his wildest dreams would any one conjure up the possibility that i might know.he doesnt have the least idea, of course, that i ever knew the real author.what a nemesis! that he should have chosen me, of all the people in the world, for his audience! its so impossible that he will never suspect it.but what happened after he had finished? what did you do? nothing, except to compliment him on his cleverness and try to hide every emotion that ive ever had.it was hard; i think its the hardest test ive ever had to meet.but it has given me something that i never have had before.her voice grew husky with sudden embarrassment.o clint, you were right about him.ive known for quite a long time that you were right about him, but i couldnt admit it to myself; not with the course that i had decided to take.but, clint, although i knew he was calculating and sordid and insincere, i didnt know this about him.i didnt think he hadnt a sense of honor.if i had suspected that, it would have made everything different.but you can see, she went on eagerly, you can see now why i must let him go on coming here for a while? why i cant let him get beyond my sight? her brother nodded.give him enough rope and hell hang himself, thats the idea, isnt it? ive got to be very careful, you see.he has told me a good many things about himself of late, and im trying to fit them all together.some of them dont match at all.and now that he has revealed himself, im beginning to doubt everything.that montmer secretaryship, for instance, looks very improbable to me now.ive questioned him about several prominent people down there, and he doesnt seem to have heard of any of them.well, dont worry any more about it just now, crete.lets hustle something to eat and call it a day.when his sister had gone to bed that night clinton sat for a long time in the library, staring into the fireplace.the little scene which had been enacted there a few hours earlier had stirred him to the depths of his being.it brought him perplexity and a poignant selfreproach.the fact that she was not the crying type of woman made her emotional abandon a particularly haunting thing