"No? Then here goes—I must have a smoke of some sort." She stuck one of the cheap cigarettes daintily into her mouth. "A match, Kincher! Why, the box is filthy! You must have a woman in to look after you, even if I have to find you one myself."
"I don't want any woman in the place," retorted Kemp. "There is no peace for a man when a woman is about. But let us have no more of this idle chatter. What's brought you over here? I suppose it's about Fred."
"Poor Fred!" The girl looked downcast for a moment, then she tossed her head, puffed out some smoke, and exclaimed energetically, "But he's not guilty, Kincher, and we'll get him off, won't we?"
"Not merely by saying so," replied Kemp. "But you'd better tell me how it came about that he was arrested for the murder. The police gave away nothing at the police court. Bill Dobbs was down there and he told me they let out nothing, except that their principal witness against Fred is that fellow Hill. I always knew he'd squeak. I told Fred to have nothing to do with the job."
The girl's eyes flashed viciously. She tossed the cigarette into the fire-place and straightened herself.
"That's the low, dirty scoundrel who committed the murder," she exclaimed. "He ought to be in the dock—not Fred."
"Was Fred up there that night?" asked Kemp.
"Up where?"
"At Riversbrook, or whatever they call it."
"Yes."