“Oh, darling, are you all right?” Her hands sought his, but the wire netting that covered the bars limited their contact to the fraction of a fingertip. The policeman leaned against a cell across the corridor, in sight, but out of earshot.
“I’m fine,” Conway said, “now that I’ve seen you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, my darling?”
“Tell you what?”
“You knew I knew you had done it,” she said. “But I didn’t know how — I didn’t know how you’d made them think you hadn’t. If only you’d told me, I wouldn’t have been such an idiot — I’d never have mentioned that wretched rebroadcast.” She was pleading for understanding and forgiveness, and her eyes were moist as she went on. “I couldn’t guess that everything depended on that.”
“It didn’t. The whole thing’s ridiculous. Please don’t blame yourself, my sweet.”
“You’re here, behind these bars so that I can’t even touch you. That’s not ridiculous,” she said, and there was no sign of tears now. “But — we can’t think about that... They say that Gates is the best man out here. How did you like him?”
“He wants me to plead guilty to second-degree.”
“Well, naturally,” she said.
“Look, Betty,” he said earnestly. “The car wasn’t parked at nine-four, as they claim now. I was in the theatre with Helen then, and we got in the car in the parking lot at nine-thirty.”