"Tell Judge Brewster that Captain Clinton is going," said Annie.
Alicia, meantime, was once more on the verge of collapse. The long threatened exposé was now at hand. In another moment the judge and perhaps her husband would come in, and Annie would hand them the letter which exculpated her husband. There was a moment of terrible suspense. Annie stood aloof, her eyes fixed on the floor. Suddenly, without uttering a word, she drew Underwood's letter from her bosom, and quickly approaching Alicia, placed it unnoticed in her hand. The banker's wife flushed and then turned pale. She understood. Annie would spare her. Her lips parted to protest. Even she was taken back by such an exhibition of unselfishness as this. She began to stammer thanks.
"No, no," whispered Annie quickly, "don't thank me; keep it."
Captain Clinton turned round with a jeer. Insolently, he said to Annie:
"You might as well own up—you've played a trick on us all."
"No, Captain Clinton," she replied with quiet dignity; "I told you the simple truth. Naturally you don't believe it."
"The simple truth may do for Judge Brewster," grinned the policeman, "but it won't do for me. I never expected this mysterious witness, who was going to prove that Underwood committed suicide, to make an appearance, did I, Maloney. Why not? Because, begging your pardon for doubting your word, there's no such person."
"Begging your pardon for disputing your word, captain," she retorted, mimicking him, "there is such a person."
"Then where is she?" he demanded angrily. Annie made no answer, but looked for advice to Judge Brewster, who at that instant entered the room. The captain glared at her viciously, and unable to longer contain his wrath, he bellowed:
"I'll tell you where she is! She's right here in this room!" Pointing his finger at Annie in theatrical fashion, he went on furiously: "Annie Jeffries, you're the woman who visited Underwood the night of his death! I don't hesitate to say so. I've said so all along, haven't I, Maloney?"