Frank discussed the situation with Aleta one evening after Ruef's capture. Her friend, the Supervisor, had brought news of the alarm.
"He says no one of them will trust the other; they're afraid of Gallagher; think he'll turn State's evidence, or whatever you call it. 'Squeal,' was what he said."
"Burns and Heney must be putting on the screws," commented Frank.
"Frank," Aleta laid a hand impulsively upon his arm, "I don't suppose there's any way to save this man ... I--oh, Frank, it would be awful if he went to prison."
He stared at her. "What do you mean, Aleta?"
"I mean," she answered, "that he's done things for me ... because he loves me ... hopes to win me. He's sincere in that.... Oh, can't you see how it would hurt if--"
"If he gets caught--stealing," Frank spoke harshly. "Well, you should have thought of that before, my dear."
A touch of anger tinctured the appeal with which her eyes met his. "One doesn't always reason when the heart is sore. When one is bitter with--well--yearning."
He did not answer. He was rather startled by that look. Finally she said, more gently: "Frank, you'll help him if you can--I know." He nodded.
It was late. Aleta had to hurry to the theatre. Frank left her there and walked down Sutter street.