“Fret not your dear little sympathetic, apprehensive gizzard. Don’t say one word, except to answer questions. Don’t volunteer any confessions, or let Adelaide do so. Remember, the prisoner is not obliged to criminate himself, the burden of proof lies with Snooks, and she will find it a pretty heavy burden.”
“Not with that note!” I replied.
“That note! Ha! ha! But I won’t tell you. It’s too good a joke.”
“And Professor Waite’s picture of Adelaide?”
“The picture, I had forgotten that,” and Winnie became grave at once. “He must take it right away,” she added. “I will tell him to.”
“You talk as if you could make him do anything,” I said.
“Anything I choose to try,” Winnie replied confidently. We were at the studio door a little ahead of time, and Professor Waite threw it open at our knock, and welcomed us in with his palette still on his thumb. “Come and see my picture,” he said, with a smile.
“Poor man!” I thought, “he would not look so happy if he knew how angry Adelaide is, and what a mine is waiting to be exploded beneath him.”
He led us to the easel and displayed the canvas triumphantly.
It was an effective, striking picture, but it did not in the least resemble Adelaide.