Oh, Elise Perrier, not least among my great pangs of remorse is the thought that I have dragged you down into my own dishonor. For me and through me, your honest hard-working hand and your innocent soul were stained with guilt.
While we stood waiting for the man to return, I thought I heard a door open and close overhead.
I started. “Could it be Prilukoff?” I gasped to Elise.
“Elise, what have you done to him?”
“I put chloral into everything—into everything,” and Elise shuddered.
“Oh, Elise! What if he were to die?”
She made no answer.
“And if we were to be sent to prison?”
The bells were ringing joyfully in the limpid Easter dawn.