"Then why is he in prison?" There was a note of triumph in her voice, as if she had me cornered.
"Miss Fluette," I replied earnestly, "will you listen to me for a few minutes? Believe me, there is no occasion for this desperate manner—"
"I am desperate."
"Perhaps. I understand your feelings; you and Mr. Maillot have my deepest sympa—"
She cut me short with a rap of the pistol upon the chair-back; I looked to see the thing go off.
"We don't want sympathy," she said through her teeth. "We want justice. And justice we 'll have. Go over there and write!"
She imperiously indicated the desk.
Was a man ever caught in such an absurd predicament! I was truly sober now. I was resolved not to commit myself to anything that would only make me ridiculous; but this passionate, high-strung girl had told only the truth when she warned me that she was in dead earnest. My dilemma was most perplexing—and irritating, too. Could she be made to understand that if I exposed my hand now, before the issue was ripe, that the disclosure might work irreparable injury? Would she comprehend that such a course would immediately drive the guilty inside their defences? Could she be made to see that it was better for her lover to endure a temporary inconvenience, than to be left in a position where he could never be freed from reproach? Perhaps so, but only by showing her where her father stood. I scarcely need point how impossible such a choice was. And in her present mood!
"Where is Miss Cooper?" I asked at last.
She abruptly clutched the hand that held the keys, so that they clicked together.