"I do not know, madame," I said, appearing to hesitate. "We can manage without your aid. You shall stand in the dock by the side of your friend Maxwell."
And now she was thoroughly terrified; she wept, she implored, she fell upon her knees. It was a great victory, but though I knew I could not do without her I did not yield easily. When I had worked her up to a proper pitch I said:
"Rise, madame, and write the address in Finchley where I shall find your friends."
"They are not my friends," she cried, tottering to the table on which lay writing materials. "They would ruin, they would destroy me! And you, monsieur—you will save me? You have promised, on the honor of a gentleman. You will save me—you will save me!"
"I will keep my promise, madame. Write—it is your only chance. You allowed your hatred of John Fordham to carry you too far. Be thankful that I came here as your friend."
"If I had never met these Fordhams," she said, her hands trembling as she took up a pen, "it would have been better for me."
"It would have been better for you if you had been faithful to your master, and not entered into a conspiracy against him. We English have a proverb—honesty is the best policy. Take it to heart, and for the future be content with making money out of us." I looked at the address she had written, 23 Lethbridge Road, N. W. "Do they all live together, madame?"
"I think so, monsieur," she replied, and even now she made a motion, as though she would have liked to pluck the paper from me.
There was no fear of my forgetting the address, and I held it out to her.
"Do you wish for it back?"