Her grasp on his arm relaxed, and the set lines of her white face broke.
“Thank God you’re here,” said Rose Aviolet. “I wouldn’t have believed anybody else. Can you take me to Ces?”
“I’ve a taxi waiting.”
She listened to him in unbroken silence while he told her the little that he had learnt from Sir Thomas. He could see from the strained attitude in which she leant forward on the seat, her hands gripping the sides of it, that unconsciously her every muscle was tightened in an instinctive, desperate desire to speed their progress.
“Could they make it out as kleptomania?” she asked once.
“I doubt it. You see, they’d want medical evidence for that, and it would be very difficult to furnish.”
“Will he go to prison?”
“I don’t think so. Not if we can help it, I promise you. Sir Thomas will offer to make full restitution, of course, and we haven’t heard what Cecil’s got to say yet. There may be mitigating circumstances that we don’t yet know of.”
“Are they bound to—to try him?”
“I don’t know, but I’m afraid so. He’ll probably go before the magistrates, and they’ll remand him for a week. They’re sure to accept bail for him, all right, and he’ll be with you till—till his trial. We’ll get the very best legal advice, Rose, directly you’ve seen the boy. Don’t lose heart.”