“Isn’t it? But, if they accuse him—he’ll break down and confess. I know Buddy; as soon as a breath of suspicion touches him he’ll go all to pieces——”
“Whether he’s guilty or not?”
Phyllis stared. “Why, no, of course not if he isn’t guilty. Oh, Manning, do you think he isn’t? Tell me you do!”
“I wish I could, darling. But, I do say, there’s no real evidence and we may be able to prevent any from coming to light. Even if Louis was there, didn’t he leave before the time of the attack?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find out. I daren’t mention it to him. Oh, Buddy, dear—I’m sure you never did it!”
“I’m sure, too,” said Pollard, decidedly, and, whatever was in his mind there was conviction in his tone. “Now, see here, Phyllis, let’s do nothing in the matter. As near as I can make out, Barry’s confession is not believed at all by the police. They are sure he’s shielding some one, but they don’t know who it is. Of course, Barry won’t tell, so Louis is safe.”
“But suppose they do come to believe Phil, and he is arrested!”
“Not a chance.”
“But if they should?”
“Would you care so much?” Pollard spoke softly, and tenderly. “If it should mean Louis’ safety——”