"What explanation do you make?"
"None—except that I don't know how it got there."
"You deny that you were there yourself that night?"
"Yes—I was never near the safe that night; I haven't the slightest idea how the rose came to be in it; I never took the jewels; I have had nothing to do with Bébita's disappearance; I haven't done any of the things you think I've done. But what's the good of my saying so—what's the good of answering at all?" She dropped her face into her hands, her elbows propped on her knees. The attitude, the tone of her voice, everything about her, suggested an "Oh-what's-the-use!" feeling. From behind her hands the words came dull and listless. "Do anything you like with me; it doesn't make any difference. You think you've got me cornered; that being the case, I'll do whatever you say."
Mrs. Janney made a step toward her:
"Miss Maitland, I'll agree to let the whole matter drop—hush it up and let you go without a word—if you'll tell us where Bébita is."
Without moving her hands the girl answered:
"I can't tell, for I don't know."
Mrs. Price sank into her chair with a loud, sobbing wail. Some one took her away—Mr. George, I think. Then Mr. Janney had his say:
"If you're doing this to protect Price—"