"Yes, yes, I see that. But why take them, child? What were you doing in that house, and whom were you with?"
She threw up her arms, but made no reply.
"Will you not tell?" he urged.
A short silence, then a low "No," evidently wrung from her by the deepest anguish.
Mr. Gryce heaved a sigh; the struggle was likely to be a more serious one than he had anticipated.
"Miss Oliver," said he, "more facts are known in relation to this affair than you imagine. Though unsuspected at first, it has secretly been proven that the man who accompanied the woman into the house where the crime took place, was Franklin Van Burnam."
A low gasp from the bed, and that was all.
"You know this to be correct, don't you, Miss Oliver?"
"O must you ask?" She was writhing now, and I thought he must desist out of pure compassion. But detectives are made out of very stern stuff, and though he looked sorry he went inexorably on.
"Justice and a sincere desire to help you, force me, my child. Were you not the woman who entered Mr. Van Burnam's house at midnight with this man?"