"I'll be damned if I do!" he vociferated violently. "There is nothing there which would save him."
"Or justify him—or show the Greek as being what he was?"
Steppe could not answer this: he had another comment to offer. His attitude toward her had changed slightly since the big diamond had blazed upon her engagement finger: a reminder of obligations past and to come.
"You're taking a hell of an interest in this fellow, Beryl?"
"I shall always take a hell of an interest in every matter I please," she said, eyeing him steadily. "Unless you satisfy me that nothing has been left undone that can be done for Ambrose, I shall go into the witness box and swear to all that I know."
"My dear—" Her father's expostulation she did not hear.
Steppe broke into it. "There is something about this business which I don't understand. You and Moropulos and this fellow dined together once—or didn't you? Sounds mighty queer, but I won't enquire—now."
"You'll open the safe?"
"No!" Steppe's jaw set like a trap. "Not to save Sault or any other man! There is nothing there to save him, I tell you. But if there was—I wouldn't open it. Get that into your mind, all of you."
She regarded him thoughtfully, and then Ronnie. He looked in another direction.