"Well," I said, with a shrug of my shoulders, "we will leave it at that. Please consider yourself at liberty to leave the house when you choose."
I put my hand in my pocket and felt the pistol. "By the way," I added, taking it out and holding it towards her, "since you've given me back my latch-key, the least I can do is to restore you your property."
She accepted it with an air of bewilderment.
"Of course you have some more cartridges," I went on, "but I will trust to your honour—"
"Honour!" she broke out. "You talk to me of honour! You!"
The inference was so obvious that I could hardly pretend to miss it.
"Why not?" I demanded. "I've already told you I am perfectly innocent of the crimes you credit me with."
I stooped forward and picked up the key from the sofa. "Perhaps you can tell me," I added, "whether there are any more of these useful articles wandering about London. If so, I think I shall go to the expense of a new lock."
She shook her head, still staring at me in a kind of puzzled wonder.
"I do not know," she said. "It makes no difference. Whether you are innocent or guilty, there is no power that can save you."