Mr. Parker got up and paced about the room.
"You have put me in a terrible position, Lady Mary," he said. "You see, I'm a police-officer. I never imagined—"
"It doesn't matter," said Lady Mary. "Of course you'll have to arrest me, or detain me, or whatever you call it. That's what I came for. I'm quite ready to go quietly—that's the right expression, isn't it? I'd like to explain about it, though, first. Of course I ought to have done it long ago, but I'm afraid I lost my head. I didn't realize that Gerald would get blamed. I hoped they'd bring it in suicide. Do I make a statement to you now? Or do I do it at the police-station?"
Parker groaned.
"They won't—they won't punish me so badly if it was an accident, will they?" There was a quiver in the voice.
"No, of course not—of course not. But if only you had spoken earlier! No," said Parker, stopping suddenly short in his distracted pacing and sitting down beside her. "It's impossible—absurd." He caught the girl's hand suddenly in his own. "Nothing will convince me," he said. "It's absurd. It's not like you."
"But an accident—"
"I don't mean that—you know I don't mean that. But that you should keep silence—"
"I was afraid. I'm telling you now."
"No, no, no," cried the detective. "You're lying to me. Nobly, I know; but it's not worth it. No man could be worth it. Let him go, I implore you. Tell the truth. Don't shield this man. If he murdered Denis Cathcart—"