THE ONLY WAY
It was something of a shock to Tom that Audry emerged so readily from the spell of his narrative and came right down to the main point.
“I don’t see how you can ask me what you ought to do—if that is what you mean.”
Tom sensed what she meant and tried to hold off the shock of it by pretending not to understand. “You mean I ought to speak to him? To tell him I know who he is? And ask him if he really did it?”
Audry was at least more honest than he in her straightforwardness. “What do you mean, tell him? Do you mean warn him?”
“N—no, not just exactly—”
“Of course he did it,” Audry said. “But it isn’t a question of whether he did it or not; not as far as you’re concerned. He’s a fugitive from justice. He has a charge hanging over him. Any good citizen who knows the whereabouts of a person indicted for murder will notify the authorities. Is that what you wanted to ask my advice about?”
“Y—yes,” said Tom weakly. He felt ashamed, wretched. “That’s what I—it’s hard—that’s why I wanted to—sort of to ask you. I—I know you don’t like him.”
“I don’t see that it’s a question of liking—”
“Oh yes, it is too,” Tom flared up in a burst of sentiment and loyalty. “It’s a question of liking with me anyway. Do you think I forget how he saved my life? Do you think I forget his—the way he’s treated me? Hard? It’s so hard I won’t do it—I can’t do it. Gee, Audry, don’t ask me to do that,” he added weakening. “I’d do anything you said but don’t ask me to do that. It’s because I like you so much and I know you’re so much smarter than I am—that’s why I came to you. You can see now how much I care about you, can’t you? There must be something—”