Corole started. Her brown hands clutched at the wall back of her.
“How did you know that?”
O’Brien cleared his throat self-consciously and at the sound Corole whirled to face him.
“I suppose you were following us this afternoon,” she said vindictively.
“They were married this afternoon,” said O’Leary. “Owing to a conversation overheard by one of us”—I daresay it was my turn to look self-conscious—“we have reason to think that possibly the bride was a bit reluctant, but however that was, they were actually married at the courthouse with Mr. O’Brien—near at hand. Your own desire to perjure yourself, Mrs. Hajek, will not be of any help in the matter, for your husband cannot be cleared.”
A strange silence fell; the torrents of rain seemed to be lessening slightly and I heard a roll of thunder away off in the distance.
I was engaged in going over and over to myself O’Leary’s explanations; it did not seem to me that he had covered everything, and I was about to inquire into certain matters when O’Leary spoke again.
“Is everything clear to you, Dr. Balman?” he asked deferentially.
Dr. Balman hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he said with a puzzled and worried air. “I really don’t know. This is”—he paused to pass his hand across his eyes, rubbing the bruise on his cheekbone a little as if it itched—“this is a terrible responsibility, Mr. O’Leary.”