I have to try to do Martlow justice." He went
out to the platform, Fosdike after him.
Tim Martlow sat at the table and took a bottle from his pocket. He drew
the cork with his teeth, then felt a light touch on his arm. "I was
forgetting you," he said, replacing the bottle.
"I ain't likely to forget you," said Dolly ruefully.
He gripped her hard. "But you are going to forget me, my girl," he
said. "Tim Martlow's dead, and his letters of gold ain't going to be
blotted by the likes of you. You that's been putting it about
Calderside I'm the father of your child, and I ain't never seen you in
my life till to-night."
"Yes, but you're getting this all wrong," she blubbered. "I didn't have
a baby. I was going to borrow one if they'd claimed to see it."
"What? No baby? And you put it across old Rumbold?" Laughter and sheer
admiration of her audacity were mingled in his voice. With a baby it
was a good bluff; without one, the girl's ingenuity seemed to him to
touch genius.
"He gave me that paper," she said, pride subduing tears as she handed
him her splendid trophy.
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