“But the police!” quavered Jax. “You said the place was guarded, and I’d be pinched if I tried to get out.”
“Oh, no,” retorted Kent, with a smile. “That wouldn’t have been true, and I never lie. You inferred that, and wrongly, from my little ruse to keep you from running away. That you would be arrested eventually, if you attempted escape was true. It still is true.”
“I believe it,” replied Preston Jax fervently, “with you on my trail.”
“Come, Mrs. Blair,” said Kent. “Remember, Jax: fair play, and we shall pull you through yet.”
In the taxi, Marjorie Blair turned to Kent. “You are a very wonderful person,” she said—Kent shook his head—“and, I think, a very kind one.” Kent shook his head again. “Be kind to me, and leave me to go home alone.”
Kent stopped the cab, stepped out and raised his hat. She leaned toward him.
“Just a moment,” she said. “Perhaps I ought not to ask; but it is too strong for me. Will you tell me who the woman was?”
Kent fell back a step, his eyes widening.
“You don’t see it yet?” he asked.
“Not a glimmer of light. Unless she was some—some unacknowledged member of the family.”