“They’ve got him—Doctor Fortier—a prisoner?” he said slowly.
“O’Leary was going to have the police in and turn him over to them, but I thought it was better to let you decide.”
He turned and looked at her gratefully.
“It’s queer; you always seem to know instinctively the right thing to do. No; not the police—never that. Whatever happens to me—never that.”
“I am glad I was right,” she said, smiling. “Will you follow my advice?”
“What would you advise?”
“Don’t see him at all—let him go.”
To her surprise, he acquiesced immediately. In fact, the night’s experience seemed to have shaken him profoundly. He seemed mentally as well as physically exhausted, as though prostrated by the shock. He looked up at her as a patient at the attending nurse and said:
“Do what you think best.”
The reply was scarcely more than a whisper, and immediately his glance wandered, as though the decision had passed from his mind. She watched him a moment as he stared past her, indecision, trouble, and perplexity written on his clouded look; and then, making up her mind, stepped to the door and beckoned Belle Shaler.