"Yes, Miss Mason, it does. I had best be frank with you. The prosecutor is bound to show that the presence of the wires, controlled by a switch from Mr. Darcy's table, were so arranged that he might shock his cousin, or any one who put his hands on the showcase. And they will, undoubtedly, argue that he planned this to make her insensible for his own purposes, whether it was that he did it in a fit of passion to kill her for his fancied troubles, or to cover up a robbery. I am only making it thus bald that you may know and face the worst."
"I appreciate that, and I thank you. Then it does look bad for him?"
"It does."
"And how does he bear up under it?"
"Very well. His chief anxiety is regarding you. I realize this is a test of friendship, Miss Mason. A test of both the loyalty of yourself and your father, and—"
"Oh, you needn't worry about dad! He'll stick by Jimmie through thick and thin, for he says he knows he's innocent,"
"And yourself? How does your loyalty meet the test?"
Amy Mason drew herself up, a splendid figure of beautiful womanhood. She flashed a look at the detective that made him stand to his full military height and bearing, and then she said:
"Do you think I'm going to let dad beat me? Oh, no, Colonel Ashley!"
So Amy Mason met the test.