Betty, too, seemed to be looking for my visits with a
degree of pleasure that both pleased and grieved me, for with all my
longing for the girl, I never lost sight of the fact that if I were the
right sort of man, I should not wish to gain her love to an extent that
would mean sorrow to her.
If I were the right sort of man? The question has always set me
wondering. The man who never doubts that he is the right sort of man may
be put down as all bad, though the right sort of man is not necessarily
all good.
CHAPTER VII
THE EYE OF THE DRAGON
One morning, a week or more after my visit to my uncle's house, with
Frances, she came to my closet in the Wardrobe greatly excited, and told
me that a sheriff had come to take her to one of the London courts of
law.
"Here is the paper he gave me," she said, handing me a document which
proved to be a subpoena. "I have committed no crime, and I can't imagine
what it all means."
After examining the subpoena, I explained: "You are wanted merely as a
witness before a jury of inquiry engaged in investigating a crime of some
sort. It may be Hamilton's fight at the Old Swan, or it may be the Roger
Wentworth affair. Perhaps some one is trying to fix that awful crime on
Hamilton. But I tell you, Frances, he is innocent."
I had not, at that time, explained to her that Hamilton and Churchill
were two hundred yards behind Crofts and his friends when the robbery was
committed, having felt that it was just as well not to make Hamilton's
innocence too clear.
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