"You were afraid, then, that something incriminating might be divulged, weren't you?"
"Oh, no!" she denied instantly.
"I mean something which might seem incriminating. You trusted the person whom it would seem to incriminate; and you wanted time for the murderer to be found without, in the meantime, having the adverse circumstance made public. Isn't that it, Miss Sloane?"
"Yes—practically."
"Let's be clear on that. Your fear was that too much questioning of you or the other person might result in a slip-up—might make you or him mention the apparently damaging incident, with disastrous effect. Wasn't that it?"
"Yes; that was it."
"Now, what was that apparently incriminating incident?"
She started. He had brought her so directly to the confession that she saw now the impossibility of withholding what he sought.
"It may be," he tried to lighten her responsibility, "the very thing that Webster and the judge have concealed—for I'm sure they're keeping something back. Perhaps, if I knew it, things would be easier. People closely affected by a crime are the last to judge such things accurately."
She gave a long breath of relief, looking at him with perplexity nevertheless.