"Whether her business with Fullerton was of a nature to rouse her to desperation, if she failed."
"Nonsense!" Lawrence exclaimed. Then, more slowly and thoughtfully, "Out of the question. Mrs. Broughton is a shy and timid woman, and anything like desperation in her case would react upon herself, not on anyone else. You are clear off the track, Howell."
"You admit, however, that she might have been made desperate?"
"I admit nothing whatsoever. If I knew anything I wouldn't admit it. Or I'll admit that I don't know anything, if that will pacify you."
"Where would she be likely to go? You know her friends."
Lawrence shook his head. "If she was bent on hiding herself, she would not be likely to go to the likely places."
And with that Howell had to depart. As usual, his client had given him no information that would be of the slightest value in conducting the defense.
Lyon lingered when Howell had departed.
"There is another matter I want to tell you about," he said. "I had an interview with Miss Wolcott yesterday."
The flash of Lawrence's eyes was electric. "Out with it, you tongue-tied wretch," he cried. "Lord, that such privileges should fall to a man who doesn't know better than to waste time in wordy preambles. Tell me every syllable she said, every look that she didn't put into syllables. To think that you have been sitting here for half an hour with all that treasure locked up inside of you! Confound you, why don't you begin? Begin at the beginning, and omit nothing."