“Did you?” Kent was doggedly persistent, and Helen's fingers closed around her handbag with convulsive force. Why had she not sent Barbara to see Kent in her place?
“Did I what?” she parried.
“Did you recognize and talk with Jimmie Turnbull in your house?”
“I talked with him, yes,” she admitted, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“As Jimmie Turnbull or Smith the burglar?”
“As Jimmie”—she confessed, after a slight pause.
“Then why did you go through the farce of having Jimmie arrested as a burglar?” Kent demanded.
“So that Barbara might win her wager,” promptly. Kent stared at her incredulously.
“Do you mean that, notwithstanding the risk to which you were subjecting him with his weak heart, you kept up the farce simply that Barbara might win an idiotic wager?” Kent asked.
Helen passed one nervous hand over the other; her palms were hot and dry, and two hectic spots had appeared in each white cheek.