“How can you talk like that?” Stella demanded, confronting her. “Does his death mean nothing to you? Are you so hard and callous that you’re not frightened by the awful thing you’ve done?”
Gerda shrugged. “Oh, very well,” she said. “What shall we do? Call the cops?”
Stella beat on the table with her fists. “There’s nothing we can do,” she cried. “We can’t bring him back. You’ve finished us both!”
“I’ve got him in the car,” Gerda said. “We can dump him and the car in the river. It is very deep. He may never be found. Then we can get another ride into Miami. With the money, we’ll be safe and we’ll be happy.”
Stella stopped crying and stared at her. “Is that what you’re going to do?” she said. “What about the house and the bloodstains? Do you think we can get rid of them?”
“I’m going to set fire to the house. They’ll think it’s the lightning.”
Stella went very white. “Then he was right. You are utterly bad. You have no feelings for anything but yourself. Go on, do what you’ve planned. I can’t stop you. But I’m not going with you. I’d rather go on the streets than go with you. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Gerda looked at her thoughtfully. “But I couldn’t let you do that,” she said reasonably, “you might talk. I’m very fond of you, Stella, but you mustn’t try my patience too much.” Her voice was toneless and her eyes shone strangely.
Stella shook her head. “I shan’t talk,” she said; “you needn’t be afraid of that. I’m going right out of this house and I hope I shall never see you again.”
She had recovered from her hysteria now that she had a fixed purpose, and her one thought was to get as far away from Gerda as possible.