“But it can’t be found out. If they do arrest somebody, it’ll most likely be the wrong person.”
Phyllis looked very lovely as she drew her brows together in a perplexed frown and then smiled.
“Oh, make them stop, Phil. If you advise Millicent, she’ll stop.”
“I’m afraid my sense of justice is too strong—” Barry began, but Phyllis interrupted him:
“It is too strong if it’s stronger than your wish to please me,” and she pouted like a scolded child.
“Nothing in my heart is stronger than my wish to please you,” Barry said, gravely, “and you know it, Phyllis. If you make it a condition, I will most certainly suggest to Mrs Lindsay that she give up her quest. But, such advice would be against my own better judgment.”
“But why, Phil?” Phyllis was coaxing now. “Don’t you feel sure they’ll never find the murderer?”
“If they don’t, Phyllis, they’ll always suspect me.”
“What do you care—since you are innocent?”
“I care very much! Why, my dear girl, do you suppose I could carry that burden all my life? Always go about, knowing that many people—or even a few people suspected me of Robert Gleason’s murder? No; when I think about it, I’m ready to move heaven and earth, if that were possible, to find the true criminal!”