“Personally, no.”
“What about that man to whom your two assailants were to hand you over and who says that he knows you?”
“Doesn’t every woman,” she said, with a slight blush, “come across men who pursue her more or less openly? I can’t tell who it is.”
The captain was silent for a while and then went on:
“When all is said, our only hope of clearing up the matter lies in questioning our prisoner. If he refuses to answer, I shall hand him over to the police, who will know how to get to the bottom of the business.”
The girl gave a start:
“The police?”
“Well, of course. What would you have me do with the fellow? He doesn’t belong to me. He belongs to the police.”
“No, no, no!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “Not on any account! What, have my life gone into? . . . Have to appear before the magistrate? . . . Have my name mixed up in all this? . . .”
“And yet, Little Mother Coralie, I can’t . . .”