Brant smiled. “Don’t worry about that. If you should happen to be summoned you must tell the whole truth. I sha’n’t gainsay it by so much as a single word.”
“You are a queer fellow,” was the editor’s comment after a pause. “Most men in your hard case would be catching at straws. Are you quite sure you don’t want counsel?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then is there anything else I can do for you?”
The jailer was returning.
“No, I think not—yes, there is, too. You can keep young Langford’s name out of the papers, if you will.”
Forsyth shook his head. “It is too late to do that now, even if it would have been possible earlier—which it wouldn’t have been, under the circumstances. Is there nothing else?”
“Nothing that I think of.”
“All right. Keep up your nerve, and try to argue yourself into a reasonable frame of mind—about employing counsel, I mean. I’ll see you again in the morning.”