"Before you talk any louder suppose you give this the once over," he said.
Lilas glanced at the proffered package with a sneer.
"Bah! Don't you think I know a warrant?" Then, as she opened the envelope and scanned its contents, she started. To conceal the tremor of her hand she spread the documents upon her center-table and turned her back to the visitor. An odd rigidity crept over her. When she swung about to speak her voice was harsh, but her defiance had lessened.
"I don't understand—"
"Oh! I guess you do. Anyhow, the whole story's there. You see, Armistead spilled—that's why he jumped his bond; he was afraid of Melcher's gunmen. We got Sullivan, too. He was tough, but we got him finally; and as for Knight! Say, that little grafter sprained his wrist signing affidavits."
"Rot! You don't expect me to believe all this?" Lilas demanded, uncertainly. "Why, these confessions are probably phony. You dictated them yourself, for all I know. Anyhow, they don't mean anything to me."
"Well, you'd ought to know whether they do or not." The policeman calmly refolded the papers.
"What about Max? What does he say about this?"
"Oh, he takes it all right. He knows we've got it on him, and he knows when to lay down a hand. Max is a good sport. But I ain't here to swap gossip. If I was you I'd take it on the run; you can't win anything by sticking."
"I won't go," stormed the girl. "It's a put-up job to get me away."