“If you do,” said the miserable Deputy, “everything may come out.”
“I hope it does. I’m sick and tired of this.”
“But if it does come out, they are certain to suspect me and I may have to go to prison.”
It was the falsest of all false moves. Girlie realized the fact almost as soon as it was made. But this cruel situation was always driving her too hard.
“So much the better if you do have to go to prison.” Pikey’s words were scornful and deliberate. “I hope you will, I’m sure.”
The callous speech took away Girlie’s breath. But for the moment only. In the next she had unconsciously proved that she was not the Girlie of a week ago. “If you give me away”—the thin, high-pitched voice quivered ominously—“and I do have to go to prison, I’ll take good care, Mrs. Pike, that you come, too.”
The words gave pause to Mrs. Pike.
“They can’t touch me—not the police can’t,” she said after a brief period of reflection. “I am not pretending to be her ladyship. I am not pretending to be any one.”
“No, you’re not,” said Girlie. “But”—inspired by the bizarre knowledge that may lurk in an out-of-the-way corner of the brain of a solicitor’s daughter—“you are an accessory after the fact, please don’t forget that.”
The chance shot went home. Pikey was reduced to savage mumblings. For the time being, at least, she had met with her quietus.