She caught one of the newspapers from him and struck it open. Its head-lines shouted confirmation of the reporter's words.
"Look!"
"'Footlight favorite ... damaging letter ... journalistic enterprise,'" he repeated.
"You see what it means?"
"Wait, wait!" He read on feverishly to the end.
Jean gave a last mechanical touch to her veil.
"I am going down to police headquarters to tell what I know, Craig."
"No," he cried. "You must not mix in this again. You shall not. There is some better way. We must think it out. There is Bartlett—he knows!"
"Through me!"
"I think he'd be willing—no; that's folly. We can't ask the man to perjure himself. We must hit on something else. You must not be the one. Think what it might mean!"