The woman’s fine face hardened perceptibly. She appeared to nerve herself to meet a threatening situation, to oppose with tooth and nail, if necessary, the disclosures the detective evidently was determined to evoke. She drew up a little in her chair, replying more coldly:
“That seems quite impossible, Mr. Carter. What put that into your head?”
“You did,” said Nick quietly.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible! When?”
“When you met your son this morning, Mrs. Clayton, and fainted upon learning that the robbery was committed by a man so like him that—but you could not say more,” Nick broke off. “You fell to the floor in a faint.”
“That is true, I admit, Mr. Carter——”
“And you also must admit, Mrs. Clayton, that the circumstances and your own words permit of no other interpretation,” Nick interrupted, more impressively.
“But——”