"I will have it there by that time," I assured her.
She started to rise, then sank back in her chair and looked at me.
Yes, she was frightened.
"Mr. Lester," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse and broken, "I think
I will tell you—what I can. I—I have no one else."
For the first time in my life I found myself pitying her. It was true—she had no one else.
"Don't think that I've been gambling or speculating or anything of that sort," she went on. "I have hesitated a long time before asking for this money—I don't enjoy giving away fifty thousand dollars."
"Giving it away?" I repeated. Certainly she was not the woman to enjoy doing that!
"Yes—giving it away! But—I must have peace! Another such night as last night—"
A sudden pallor spread across her face, and she touched her handkerchief hastily to lips and eyes.
"My—my husband wishes it," she added, almost in a whisper.
I don't know what there was about that sentence that sent a little shiver along my spine. Perhaps it was the tense of the verb. Perhaps it was the voice in which the words were uttered. Perhaps it was the haggard glance which accompanied them. Whatever the cause, I found that some of my client's panic was communicating itself to me.