"I'm waiting on you," I said sharply. "I've kept quiet on your sister's account, but I expect you to clear up this matter, in any way you can."
"How? By pleading guilty myself? I am also interested in my sister, and I do not think she would like it."
I looked at him.
"It lies between you and me," he went on. "The evidence at present is all against you, while there is nothing against me, and nothing in my record to indicate that I would set fire to the house I had lived in, but did not own."
"But if your record was known," I growled, "there would be indications bearing upon this."
"I see. You have listened to my sister. Do you think she would come into court and swear away the liberty of her brother?"
A chill passed through me at this, but I answered doggedly: "Don't know. It depends, I suppose, upon how much she thinks of her precious brother."
"And also," he said softly, "upon how much you think of her. She took you—in my behalf, of course, though that might not be proved—into her home at midnight when I was supposed to be in Philadelphia. Do you care to have her cross-examined upon that point, first by the prosecuting attorney who will try you, and then by my lawyer in case I am tried?"
"Damn your wretched heart and soul!" I yelled. "Would you shield yourself behind your sister's good name? Would you permit it, even to save your miserable life?"
"Not so loud, please. I answer that question in kind. Would you?"