"Suspect me!" he cried amazedly, dashing the remnant of his cigarette into the fire. "Oh, figs! Of course he doesn't, Belle; but—look here: there are plenty who will. I want to make it plain that, in a way wholly unintentional on my part, I have got myself mixed up in a pretty bad mess, and then I want to make sure of Mr. Swift's coöperation in my efforts to extricate myself.
"My dear Belle,"—a gentle note crept into his voice,—"please consider the circumstances under which I came here last night; think of the tragedy which followed so swiftly; consider the story I have to tell, and then ask yourself, Who is going to believe it? God help us both, dear girl, but this thing has all got to be brought out and aired in public!"
The fine brown eyes searched my face.
"Do you believe that Royal Maillot is guilty of this monstrous crime?" she asked me point-blank.
Before I had time to frame a reply, she once more sprang impetuously from her chair, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with anger.
"Answer me, sir, do you believe that?"
I replied, then, calmly, if non-committally:
"As Mr. Maillot has said, I am of a disposition to help him out of a tight place, and I trust that his friends will not put unnecessary obstacles in the way of working to that end."
She said no more. Poor Belle Fluette! She was to have my sympathy more than once during the days that were to follow. Miss Cooper looked at me a little apprehensively, but I read confidence in her eyes.
"Let Mr. Maillot proceed," I now said. "It is not fair to him to fail at this stage to hear all that he has to say, providing he really desires to continue. I want to ask one question, though, before you proceed."