“Of course, Louis—neither of us killed that man. But I tell you it’s better to tell the truth.”
“But I won’t be believed——” Louis whimpered like a child. “Don’t tell on me, Phil. Who said I was there?”
“You were seen to go in.”
“By whom?”
“A tenant on another floor. Better come clean, boy. What were you there for?”
“The old reason. I wanted money.” Louis spoke sullenly, and his dark eyes showed a smoldering fire. “I was in bad——”
“Oh, Louis, gambling again?”
“Quit that tone, Barry. You’re not my father confessor!”
“You’d better have one. Don’t you see you’re ruining your life—and breaking your sister’s heart—not that you’d care! You are a selfish little beast, Louis! I’ve no use for you! But, listen, unless you tell the truth when you’re questioned, I warn you, it’ll go hard with you. Promise me this; if you’re asked, admit you were there. If you’re not asked, do as you like about withholding the information.”
“I’ll do as I like, anyway,” and young Lindsay’s eyes showed an ugly light, though his glance at Barry was furtive rather than belligerent.