“Have you ever thought,” he said at last, “that this man, whoever he is, ought to marry you?”
Edith's face set like a flint.
“I don't want to marry him,” she said. “I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth.”
He knew very little of Edith's past. In his own mind he had fixed on Louis Akers, but he could not be sure.
“I won't tell you his name, either,” Edith added, shrewishly. Then her voice softened. “I will tell you this, Willy,” she said wistfully. “I was a good girl until I knew him. I'm not saying that to let myself out. It's the truth.”
“You're a good girl now,” he said gravely.
Some time after he got his hat and came in to tell her he was going out.
“I'll tell what you've told me to Mr. Hendricks,” he said. “And we may go on and have a talk with the Chief of Police. If you are right it may be important.”
After that for an hour or two Edith sat alone, save when Ellen now and then looked in to see if she was comfortable.
Edith's mind was chaotic. She had spoken on impulse, a good impulse at that. But suppose they trapped Louis Akers in the Searing Building?