She forced a miserable smile to her lips. "You do not understand me, Tom. I am going down to the river with you, but I am coming back alone."
He slowly grasped the meaning of it.
"You—you're going down to see that I do make an end of it?" he cried.
"I want to be sure, for Christine's sake," she said, quite steadily.
He was glaring at her now. "Oh, I see. You don't trust me," he exclaimed bitterly. He put out his hand to steady himself against the library table. "I can't say that I blame you, either. But I won't stay here. I would, if it would do any good, but how can it? The police are likely to pile in here any minute with a warrant for me. That would be fine, wouldn't it?" He strode to the window and tried to look through the passage into the street. "I don't want to be pinched now. Go and look out of the front windows—go on! See if there's any one out there."
She did not move.
"Ain't you going to look?" he demanded.
"The police?" dropped from her lips dully. She had overlooked the danger from that direction, although her mind had been so full of it a little while before. "He won't send them here, Tom—"
"Of course, he will," he broke in irascibly. "He's crazy mad, and he'll act quickly to head off Jenison's warrant. I can't stay here—not another minute. Can't I get out the back way? They may be laying for me in front. Don't look like that, Mary! I can give 'em the slip. It won't do to have them nab me here. Just think of the newspapers! Wake up! Don't you see? And listen: I'll do what I said I would—to-night. I swear it. You can trust me, Mary. Now, quick, show me the way out—and don't let me bump into Christine. I—I couldn't stand that. I don't want to lose my nerve."
She left him and ran into the next room to look out into the avenue. He followed rapidly.