It seemed to Lawler that only an hour or so had elapsed when the key grated in the lock of the door and Moreton stuck his head in. His face lacked expression.
"Someone to see you, Lawler," he grunted, gruffly. "Wants to talk to you alone. I'll be right outside, so's you can call me when you've got enough of it."
He pushed the door open, and Della Wharton stepped in.
Moreton closed the door, and Della stood watching Lawler steadily.
Lawler had been standing near one of the rear windows, and when he recognized his visitor he came forward and stood within three or four paces of her.
"Well, Miss Wharton?" he said, quietly.
"I heard you were here, Lawler," she said, evenly, her voice expressionless. "In fact, I saw the sheriff bring you in, last night."
"You expected me, I presume?"
The sarcasm in his voice brought a faint glow to her cheeks. But her gaze was level and steady, containing much inquiry.
"Yes," she said slowly; "I expected you to be brought here. You know, of course, about the charge I brought against you?"