“I’m afraid we want even more than that, Miss Corrie,” said Risk.
“What do ye want? Money for the other? Well—”
“A full account of your brother’s bargains with Symington.”
“I can give ye that, too—if ye promise.”
“And we must know at once where your niece is—where Symington has hidden her.”
“God!” Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Hidden her?” she gasped after a moment. Suddenly she shook her brother, not harshly. “John, what’s this they’re saying? Kitty hid away by Symington! Speak, man!—oh, but surely ye ken nothing about such a black business! . . . Yet speak, John! Where’s Kitty?”
“To save yourself from penal servitude, Corrie,” said Risk solemnly, “tell me where she is.”
Corrie groaned and hopelessly answered—
“Before God, I dinna ken.”
Risk and West looked at each other. For once, at least, the man had told the truth. They could not doubt it. And so the great effort had ended in failure.