Pen refused to see any humor in the situation. "Would it matter for a little while?"
"You wouldn't want a tame man!"
The ever-present fear leaped to her lips. "You're thinking of giving yourself up!"
"No," he said soberly. "I've changed my mind about that. Since I've been reading the papers. I'll keep them on the look until I see a chance to make a good fight."
Pen kissed him passionately. "Ah, that's a load off my breast!" she cried. "That's what kept me awake nights!"
"But I must be allowed to play my own hand," he insisted.
"All right, stubborn! ... Now listen, while I tell you everything that happened to-day."
On the sofa near the front windows, with her lips close to his ear she told him the story of Blanche Paglar. How sweet it was to feel in the pressure of his hand on hers how his excitement and his hope grew with the tale.
He would not let himself hope too far. When she had come to the end, he said cautiously: "Well, that's a beginning. But it's a wild scheme, Pen. You mustn't bank too much on it. Suppose you're right about Riever—it begins to look as if you were right.—No jury would take the testimony of a lot of gangsters against that of the famous millionaire. And all old Riever's powerful friends would rally round him. We're not out of the woods yet."
"I don't care so much about convicting Riever so long as we raise a sufficient doubt to make a jury afraid to convict you!"