Her brother came back, and she turned to meet him. To her surprise he was standing inside the door, white to the lips and staring at her with wild eyes.
“Saunders!” he said chokingly, “Saunders, the damned fool! He's given it away.”
He staggered to a chair, and ran a handkerchief across his shaking lips.
“He told Bassett, of the Times-Republican,” he managed to say. “Do you—do you know what that means? And Bassett got Clark's automobile number. He said so.”
He looked up at her, his face twitching. “They're hound dogs on a scent, Bev. They'll get the story, and blow it wide open.”
“You know I'm prepared for that. I have been for ten years.”
“I know.” He was suddenly emotional. He reached out and took her hand. “Poor old Bev!” he said. “After the way you've come back, too. It's a damned shame.”
She was calmer than he was, less convinced for one thing, and better balanced always. She let him stroke her hand, standing near him with her eyes absent and a little hard.
“I'd better make sure that was Jud first,” he offered, after a time, “and then warn him.”
“Why?”