"Yes. Dee's ill. You must come at once."
He caught up his hat and gloves; his overcoat he had not taken off. "What is it?"
"Bobs, it's—it's that."
"That? What? Can't you speak out?"
Out in the air she took a deep breath. "It wasn't me at all that was in trouble," she announced desperately.
"Not you?" Stupefaction was in his voice. Gathering wrath superseded it as he demanded, "Is this some kind of an infernal joke?"
"No. It was Dee all the time. As I told you at first."
"Then why in the name——"
"You wouldn't help her because she's married. So I thought you might help me, if you thought it was me, because I wasn't."
"An admirable little game. But I'm still not sure that I quite get the point of it." His voice was so ugly that Pat's shook as she said: