Emery's red-rimmed eyes were puzzled. He made a vague gesture as though he would whisk away a troublesome fly.
"Yes, but-oh, what the hell!" he said. "It was a good story. It. what difference does that make anyway? There's something else now. I'll say there's something else!"
"You know somethin' about it?" inquired H. M. casually.
"Carl 'phoned me. He was cockeyed drunk. Can I — can I see her?"
He shuddered when he said that, and turned his hollowed eyes slowly towards H. M. "He was cockeyed drunk. He said something about her being at a pavilion, didn't know what he was talking about or something, and in a marble casket. The-the poor softie was crying. Carl Rainger. I don't know about that, but we'll get her the best casket there is in London, unless we can take her across the ocean. He said they were going to arrest Bohun. They hang 'em over here, don't they? That's swell."
The words rattled, but there was no force in his voice. He worked his fingers up and down the arms of the chair. Some thought tortured him, and, like the usual twist of his conscience, he could not rest until he had spoken it.
"I've got to come clean now. You'll know it sooner or later. If Bohun killed her, like Rainger said, it's my fault. Because I told Canifest..: Told him yesterday afternoon; sneaked out of the hospital to do it. Carl only found out two days ago, and he said it was the best way of stopping it. Yeah. I mean, he found out Canifest was their angel, so…" he gestured.
"Easy there, son. Take your drink," said H. M., with a drowsy wave of his hand, "and let's get this in order. You told Canifest what?"
"That she was married already."
Masters interposed heavily: "It's only fair to warn you, Mr. Emery, that you must be careful what you say. Of your own volition you've admitted something that makes you liable to a criminal charge, a wilful and malicious attempt to kill her"