“And he has released you now?”
“Of course. If he had not, you would have known nothing, you would have been told nothing.”
“You might have trusted me,” said Gerard reproachfully.
She turned upon him quickly.
“I could trust no one,” she said. “A word, nay, a look, while I was living under the same roof with a gang of dangerous criminals, might have been death to me. I knew that, while I was staying with them, I carried my life in my hand. It was by far the worst experience I have ever had, and I could not have gone through with it, could not have stood the strain of being always on the watch for the proofs which I had to hoard up to communicate to the police, but for my uncle’s promise that it should be the last, the very last thing he would call upon me to do.”
Gerard involuntarily heaved a deep sigh of thankfulness.
“And you have done with it?” he said.
“Yes.”
His tone grew harder.
“For the time, that is, of course. You will probably find your way back when you are asked by the friends you have formed. It was Cecil Jones who accompanied you everywhere, wasn’t it? When you detected pickpockets in a crowd, and handed him the stolen property? When you accompanied him to the police-station to give evidence against the shop-lifter at the stores—”