"I wouldn't say that, Les, if I were in your place."
"It is a rather priggish thing to say, isn't it?"
"Rather."
"You see, I'm the only one who really took sides with Sara. I forget myself sometimes. She was such a brick, all those years."
Booth was silent for a moment, noting the reflective look in his companion's eyes.
"I suppose the police haven't given up the hope that sooner or later the—er—the woman will do something to give herself away," said he.
"They don't take any stock in my theory that she made way with herself the same night. I was talking with the chief yesterday. He says that any one who had wit to cover up her tracks as she did, is not the kind to make way with herself. Perhaps he's right. It sounds reasonable. 'Gad, I felt sorry for the poor girl they had up last spring. She went through the third degree, if ever any one did, but, by Jove, she came out of it all right. The Ashtley girl, you remember. I've dreamed about that girl, Brandy, and what they put her through. It's a sort of nightmare to me, even when I'm awake. Oh, they've questioned others as well, but she was the only one to have the screws twisted in just that way."
"Where is she now?"
"She's comfortable enough now. When I wrote to Sara about what she'd been through, she settled a neat bit of money on her, and she'll never want for anything. She's out West somewhere, with her mother and sisters. I tell you, Sara's a wonder. She's got a heart of gold."
"I look forward to meeting her, old man."