No, quiet explanations must be postponed. They could do no good, and would probably lead to his spending the night and the next few nights at the local police-station. And, even if he were spared that fate, it was certain that he would have to leave the castle—leave the castle and Molly!
He jumped up. The thought had stung him.
"One moment," he said.
McEachern stopped.
"Well?"
"You're going to tell them that?" asked Jimmy.
"I am."
Jimmy walked up to him.
"Are you also going to tell them why you didn't have me arrested that night?" he said.
McEachern started. Jimmy planted himself in front of him, and glared up into his face. It would have been hard to say which of the two was the angrier. The policeman was flushed, and the veins stood out on his forehead. Jimmy was in a white heat of rage. He had turned very pale, and his muscles were quivering. Jimmy in this mood had once cleared a Los Angeles bar-room with the leg of a chair in the space of two and a quarter minutes by the clock.