"He was very angry over something," continued Norton. "I'm sure it
was not my fault if the dagger was stolen, and I'm sure that
managing an expedition in that God-forsaken country doesn't give
you time to read every inscription, especially when it is almost
illegible, right on the spot. There was work enough for months
that I brought back, along with that. Sometimes Whitney's
unreasonable."
"You don't think he could have known something about the dagger
all along?" ventured Craig.
Norton puckered his eyes. "He never said anything," he replied.
"If he had asked me to drop other things for that, why, of course,
I would have done so. We can't afford to lose him as a contributor
to the exploration fund. Confound it--I'm afraid I've put my foot
in it this time."
Kennedy said nothing, and Norton continued, growing more excited:
"Everybody's been talking to Whitney, telling him all kinds of
things--Lockwood, the de Moches, heaven knows who else. Why don't
they come out and face me? I've a notion to try to carry on my
work independently. Nothing plays hob with scholarship like money.
You'd think he owned me body and soul, and the collection, too, if
you heard him talk. Why, he accused me of carelessness in running
the Museum, and heaven knows I'm not the curator--I'm not even the
janitor!"
Norton was excited, but I could not help feeling that he was also
relieved.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133