"Certainly not! How can we be sure that some one was not concealed in the room or did not climb in through the window or—why, there are a thousand possibilities which can never be proved!"
"Ah!" she exclaimed, her whole body trembling with eagerness. "I now remember that I had put all my jewels in a bag, and as that has disappeared, a burglar—" But as she scanned Cyril's face, she paused.
"You had the bag with you at the nursing home. The jewels are safe," he said very gently.
"Then," she cried, "it is useless trying to deceive ourselves any longer—I killed Arthur and must face the consequences."
"What do you mean?"
"I have decided to give myself up."
"You shall not! I will not allow it!" he cried.
"But don't you see that I can't spend the rest of my life in hiding? Think what it would mean to live in daily, hourly dread of exposure? Why, death would be preferable to that."
"Oh, you would be acquitted. There is no doubt of that. That is not what I am afraid of. But the idea of you, Anita, in prison. Why, it is out of the question. A week of it would kill you."
"And if it did, what of it? What has life to offer me now?"