At the touch the man crumpled. There was a crimson blot in the center of his forehead.
Santa sat up, staring furiously. “If you'd not refused them bread—”
“I didn't.”
“You did. You were only willing to sell.”
Her eyes were blazing. Her hands were clenched. Her tears fell slowly. In the terrific silence which followed so much clamor, the street itself seemed to accuse him. Picking up their bags, he led the way to the station. Scenes such as the one he had witnessed might be happening in Budapest. There was no time to be lost.
“Find out whether it's possible to send a wire.”
“Where to?” she asked suspiciously.
“To Amsterdam.”
“What for?”
“Do you need to ask?”