"Oh, I don't mind her insolence, Lord Aldean," said Olive, quietly; "she can do me no harm."
"Don't be too sure of that!" flashed out Miss Trall, vindictively.
"Clara, Clara!" implored Boldini, "it's best to say nothing--least said, soonest mended."
Aldean, arranging his writing materials on a table at Olive's elbow, looked up. "I fear you will find that proverb doesn't apply to what is to come," said he cheerfully. "Mrs. Carson, as this lady may be called for the present, will question you sufficiently closely as to the various details of the conspiracy. You will answer her questions categorically while I write them down. The little précis will then be signed by you both and witnessed by myself."
"And if we refuse this confession, as you call it," questioned Clara, who withal was obviously uneasy.
"Oh, in that case, as I have told you before, I hand you over to the police. Now, then, come along; we have no time to waste on you. Begin."
Jim dipped his pen into the ink and waited; while Olive, after a sharp glance at the two before her, launched into the examination. Reversing her previous attitude, she addressed herself exclusively to Boldini. She judged a studied indifference to be more effectual from woman to woman.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I have told you that my father was an Italian named Boldini. My mother was an Englishwoman. I was brought up and educated in London."
"Are you an Anarchist?"