“Well?” said Donnelly, gently.
Ross looked up, met his glance squarely.
“I can’t help you,” he said.
Donnelly arose.
“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “Mighty sorry. I’ve been very frank with you. Showed you the letter—laid my cards on the table. Because I had a notion that you’d heard one side of the case, and that if you heard the other you might change your mind. You might think that Ives hadn’t had a fair deal.”
“I can’t help that,” muttered Ross.
“No,” said Donnelly, “of course you can’t. And I can’t help it now, either.” He sighed. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be off now. Good-by!”
“What are you going to do?” asked Ross, sitting up straight.
“Why, I’m going to that cottage I mentioned,” said Donnelly. “And if I don’t find Ives there, or something that’ll help me to find him—then I’ll have to turn the case over to the police.”
Ross got up and began to put on his damp overcoat.