“I know a great deal,” said Stone, gravely, “and, unless assisted by what you know, my knowledge will bring trouble to your friend.”
“What do you want me to tell you?” and Estelle, now on her guard, spoke slowly and clearly, but her fingers were nervously twining themselves in and out of her crumpled handkerchief.
“Only your own individual part in the proceedings. The rest we will learn from Bates himself.”
“How do you know it was Bates?”
“We have learned much since you left Garden Steps,” and now Stone spoke a little more sternly. Hardy looked at him in wonder. Who was this Bates, clearly implicated in the murder, and known to Estelle?
“You see, Mr. Haviland saw you go down to open the window for him to come in,” Stone went on, as casually as if he were retailing innocent gossip. “Did you go down again and close it?”
“I haven’t said I opened it yet,” and Estelle flashed an irate glance at her questioner.
“No, but you will do so when you realize how necessary it is. I tell you truly, when I say that only your honesty now can save your friend Bates from the electric chair.”
Estelle shuddered and began to cry violently.
“That only makes matters worse,” said Stone patiently. “Listen to me. This is your only chance to save Bates’ life. If I go to the police with what I know, they will convict him of the murder beyond all doubt. If you tell me what I ask,—I think, I hope, between us, we can prove that he did not do it.”