“To-night.”
“Is that all you know?”
“Every last thing.”
“Very well, then. Come with me.”
“Where?... You promised——”
“I’ll keep my promise. Just to my office. Please hurry.”
He followed her with docility, sat by while she put his confession into type, signed it, and accompanied her to a notary, where he took his oath to the truth of the statements therein contained.
“Now,” said Carmel, “I guess you’d better be moving along toward the distance.”
Lancelot, in abject terror, started for the door, but Carmel arrested him. “Wait,” she said, and from its hiding place in her desk she took the match box made from a brass shell which she had found beside the whisky cache. She held it before Lancelot’s eyes.
“Whose is this?” she asked.