"You've played smash, don't you know," I went on, tightening my glass. "Awfully sorry—just wanted to give you a hint. You know this sort of thing's against the law—something or other criminal—malicious libel or malfeasance or—er—felonious assault or some dashed thing of that sort"—her eyes began to widen—"Oh, yes," I drawled, "you're in for the very deuce of a scrape unless you keep quiet!"
"Who says so?" she tried to bridle.
"I do!" I said, boring her steadily. "Witness, you know! So is Wilkes—both of us—to whatever dashed thing it is the judge decides you've done—I don't know, you know!"—I shrugged carelessly. "But he knows—he's a lawyer—and of course he'll explain it to Wilkes and me as witnesses. That's what witnesses are for, don't you know! Better go to your room and await arrest quietly."
"Oh!" She kind of caught her breath, turning green and dropping her skinny hand upon a chair-back. And I was going on explaining to her, when I looked up and there was Jenkins.
"Pardon, sir," he said, looking at me oddly, "but there's a caller waiting, and he was so urgent and particular, I came—"
"Card!" I suggested, extending a couple of fingers.
Jenkins looked shocked and his arms remained rigidly down.
"Oh," I said, polishing my glass, "the gentleman—is he one of my—"
"It ain't a gentleman, sir,"—Jenkins got it out with difficulty; "it's only just—er—a person!"
"Eh? Oh, I say, now, Jenkins!" I protested.