Elsie screamed and shrank.
Cleaver bent forward, deep dents coming and going at the corners of his nostrils, his white face working with earnestness. She could see the sweat shining upon his forehead.
“Try and understand. You will be committed for trial for the murder of your husband.”
“But Leslie Morrison....”
“He’s in the same boat. His one idea, it seems, is to shield you—to pay the whole of the penalty himself.”
“It was him who—who....” Elsie’s voice trailed away.
“I know. But who inspired him to do it, Mrs. Williams? I tell you that nothing but absolute frankness can give you a chance.”
“Shall I be in the witness-box?”
A bewildered idea that she could still make use of her charm to serve her present cause made Elsie ask the question.
“You will be in the dock,” said Cleaver grimly. “Understand that everything—your life itself—depends upon your being absolutely straightforward with me. Don’t conceal anything—don’t attempt to. I tell you, it’s your one hope.”