"Four reporters out there, too; what shall I do with 'em?"
Maillot suddenly startled us by smiting the table violently with his fist. He was white, trembling, and apprehensive; but his determination was by no means broken.
"Swift," said he, in a hushed, strained voice, "step aside with me; let me have a word with you."
He seized my arm, and fairly dragged me off toward the curtained alcove.
"Swift," he whispered, not releasing his grip on my arm, "I 'm in a devil of a position. For God's sake, show some sign of humanity! That note was from a young lady—"
"I surmised as much."
"Damn it, man! Don't laugh! I'm more dead in earnest than I ever was before in my life. This means more to me—to her—than you can by any possibility conceive, astute officer of the law though you may be."
My expression must have contained something of surprise at his vehemence, for with an effort he abruptly checked himself and at once went on more calmly.
"Swift, it's the young lady I expect some day to marry; she 's heard a rumor of the tragedy, and is worried about me. The note was brought by her coachman, and she 's waiting on the corner a block from here for me to come to her."
I tried hard to consider what was best to do. Enter a woman into a case like this, and assured conduct becomes an impossibility. Maillot was searching my face eagerly; in a moment he laid more of the matter before me.