She cut him off with a laugh, at least it was meant to be a laugh, but it was a horrible, harsh sound. As she gave it she lifted her head and cast a look at him, bitter and defiant:
"Protect him! I've no more desire to protect Mr. Price than I have to protect myself."
The Chief's voice fell deep as the church bell at a funeral:
"If you maintain this attitude, Miss Maitland, there's nothing for us to do but let the law take its course. Theft and kidnaping! Those are pretty serious charges."
She nodded:
"I suppose they are. Let the law do whatever it wants; I'm certainly not standing in its way. But as for bribing and frightening me into admitting what isn't true, you can't do it. All your money," she looked at Mrs. Janney and then at the Chief, "and all your threats won't influence me or make me change one word of what I've said."
No one spoke for a minute. She sat silent, her chin on her hands, her eyes staring past them out of the window. I had a feeling that in spite of the position she was in and what they had on her, in a sort of way she had them beaten. Their faces were glum and baffled, even the Chief had an abstracted expression like he was thinking what he ought to do with her. When he spoke it was to the Janneys:
"Since Miss Maitland persists in her present pose of ignorance and denial, the best thing for us is to get together and decide on our course of action." He glanced across at me. "We'll leave you here, Molly. Stay till we come back."
Away they went, a solemn procession, trailing across the room. When the door into the main office opened I could hear Mrs. Price crying, and I watched them, catching Mrs. Janney's words as she disappeared: "Oh, Suzanne, my poor, poor, girl! Don't give up—don't be discouraged—we'll find her!"
It gripped me, made a sort of prickling come in my nose and a twisty feeling in my under lip. I never could have believed that stern old Roman could have spoken so tender and loving to any one.