"It may be your advice is wiser than you think," Lanyard conceded.
"Well: I'm not going to lose any sleep on your account. Morphew's out of Town, nobody seems to know just where . . ."
"Like Mallison, eh?"
"Why keep fretting about Mallison? He's out."
"Perhaps . . ."
"What do you mean, 'perhaps'?"
"Jumping one's bail is not precisely proof of a clear conscience; that act of the dancing yegg's ought to be enough for you—no matter what your mind may be with respect to my guilt or innocence."
"Don't get your point."
"It's rather an obvious point in the sight of one who knows what I know—that Mallison claimed to be on intimately friendly terms with the Stuyvesant Ashes, with Mrs. Ashe, at least; Mary, I remember he called the lady, in mentioning her to Folly McFee."
"Well?"