"What have you discovered?" she inquired anxiously, her eyes searching his face.
"Well," said he, slowly, "a few things, I think."
"And Jean—Mr. Baptiste?" He looked up sharply and searched her face.
"He is innocent."
"Thank God!" And she clasped her hands and looked down in great relief. Quickly, she looked up, however, and cried: "But the proof. Will you—can you prove it?"
He toyed idly with a pencil he held in his hands, and after a time, drawled: "I think so. When the proper time comes."
"The proper time? And—when will that be?" Her voice was controlled, but the anxiety was apparent.
"Well, we'll say at the preliminary hearing tomorrow morning."
"And—and—you have no more to report?"
"Not today. I shall attend the inquest, of course. And where may I see you—say, tomorrow?"