“You’re on oath. The real reason. I want it. Why?”
“Not on your life, kid. It’s a trap! A lousy trap!”
The Wolf’s face had suddenly distorted with fury. The veins in his forehead stood out. His fists clenched. He flung them out in desperate appeal.
The lawyer’s face wore a sardonic smile. Annette had turned at the Wolf’s challenge. Croisette saw her sway as though about to collapse. She was shaking in every limb. Her eyes, those great appealing eyes were hunted. It was as though the voice of the Wolf had awakened her from some dreadful nightmare. John Danson’s voice rasped. Perhaps he understood.
“The prisoner can’t help you. He’s the man you tell the Court you saw murder Sinclair. Now this is the simple truth. You went to see Sinclair didn’t escape you. Is that so?”
“Annette!”
The Wolf’s cry howled through the Court.
“Be silent!”
It was the Judge.
“You must not interrupt,” he went on sharply, frowning down from his bench. “You will have every opportunity given you of saying anything you have to say. You are delaying proceedings which I will not allow.”