Now that the remembrance was thus abruptly brought back to him, he felt as if he wanted to gasp for breath. Carrie watched him, and presently made a sign to him to follow her. Scrambling out to the open space on the wharf, she made for the spot close to the water where Max had stood to watch the man whom Carrie had called "Dick."
When Max came up to her, the girl was standing close under the eaves of the outhouse on the bank, leaning against the wall. He could scarcely see anything of her face in the darkness, but he was struck by something strangely moving in the tones of her voice as she broke the silence.
"Look here," she said, "I want you to make me a promise. Come, it ought not to be difficult; for I got you out of a nice mess; remember that. You've got to give me your word that you will say nothing about your adventures to-day, either to the police or to anybody else."
"I can't promise that. And why on earth do you want me to do so? Surely you can have no real sympathy with the people who do the things that are done in there—"
Carrie interrupted him, breaking in upon him abruptly:
"What things?"
"Murders, and—"
"The murder was done by your friend, not by us."
"'Us?' Surely you don't identify yourself with these people?"
"I do. They are my friends—the only friends I have."