"Miss Dainton is in the room," said the Chief of Police, and O'Rane turned with a start of surprise. "It was hoped you might be able to verify the particulars she has given about herself."
Sonia rose from her chair and came forward, with a feeling that every movement was betraying her and that the Chief of Police saw through the whole piece of play-acting and only waited an opportunity to break in and expose the masquerading American. O'Rane eyed her with superb deliberation.
"It's Miss Dainton, sure," he said, with a bow. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Dainton. Now, sir, what's the piece I'm to say?"
The Chief of Police extracted a foolscap sheet from his table-drawer.
"Perhaps you can check the lady's statements," he said. "We only keep her till someone gives us guarantees of her good faith."
O'Rane was affected with sudden scruples.
"Guess you'd better find someone that knows her a bit better," he suggested. "I met her folk often enough, but I've not seen her for years."
His hand moved towards his hat as though the last word had been said, but the more he strove to avoid responsibility the more it was pressed upon him.
"Quite formal questions," the Chief of Police kept repeating; but O'Rane continued to excuse himself.
"See here," he explained. "It's God knows how many years since I met her. I wrote that letter 'cos I've known her father since I was a boy and I wanted to do the civil to his daughter. This war's an international proposition, and we Americans aren't backing either side. If you let her go on my evidence, maybe you'll regret it and start getting off protests to my Government. And, if you keep her here, I shall be up against her folk and all the everlasting State Departments of Great Britain. Guess I'd sooner be quit of the proposition right now."