“Informed the authorities!” Nash could only stare at her. “Arrested?” He started to say something, then hesitated. He fancied, suddenly, that he understood. Miss Breen, breaking under the strain, was bereft of her right mind. Her declarations were but the wanderings of a shattered brain.
He sought to humor her. He must get her away from this spot before it was too late.
“There, there, Miss Breen,” he said. “Don’t worry. Everything will come out all right. Only—only you mustn’t stay here another instant. You must run away—now please——”
“Oh, you don’t seem to understand,” she burst out, almost in a frenzy. “You’re not taking what I say to be serious. Can’t you realize the truth? I have told the authorities—the police—and they were to arrest you. It would mean—mean a long term in prison. And—and I would be the cause of it all.”
The girl’s earnest, almost pleading assertion aroused Nash. She appeared to be telling the truth. And yet——
“What did you tell the authorities?” he demanded.
“That—that you were not following the city specifications.”
Her declaration seemed so absurd that, despite the situation, Nash laughed. If he had a moment since entertained one atom of belief in Miss Breen’s statements, this final declaration killed it. Too well he knew he had followed the specifications from the head office; had double-checked them, assured himself that every figure was right. He would be willing to wager his life that his work—the work he was held directly and solely responsible for—was flawless.
Further argument, he felt, would be useless. The moments were far too precious. So, when he at last spoke, it was upon another subject; one that appeared to him to be more vital.
“What time is it, Miss Breen?” he asked calmly.