“Of course he isn’t. He said all that to—to save me.”
Bobsy looked sharply at her. “Is that so? And how am I to know that you’re not telling me this to save him?”
“You can’t know! That’s just it. You’ve not wit enough to know what is the truth and what isn’t.”
“Thank you for the implied compliment.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. This isn’t the time for it. Please help me, Mr. Roberts.”
It would have been a far less impressionable man than the detective who could have refused the pleading glance of those pansy-blue eyes.
“How can I help you, Miss Vernon?”
“This way. Tell me of some detective, some really great one, who can unravel this tangle. I didn’t kill Mr. Stannard. Barry didn’t, either. But he says he did, to save me. Now, I want some one who can find the real criminal and so clear both Barry and myself.”
“And you expect me to recommend somebody?”
“Oh, I do, Mr. Roberts, I do. I know you’re big enough and honest enough to admit that you are at the end of your rope, and if you know of any one—I don’t care how much he costs, I must have him—I must! Tell me, won’t you?”