Denny seemed to take no offense. "I'm indifferent to who knows it. I'm tired out."
Herrick flounced impatiently and, "But season your solicitude awhile," the other added. "Remember that even to you I don't admit my—what's the phrase? My guilt! And legally I shall never admit it."
"You merely 'among friends' allow its inference?"
"If you like."
"You don't seem very clear in your own mind!"
"Clear?" The brilliance of his eyes searched Herrick's face with a singular, quick, sidelong glance for which he did not turn his head. Then the glance drooped heavily to earth and Herrick could just hear him add, in a voice that fell like a stone, "No—pit-murk!" He sat there with his elbows on his knees and seemed to stare at the loose droop of his clasped hands. He said, "I shall never play Hamlet. But at least I am like him in one thing; I do not hold my life at a pin's fee."
"Good God!" Herrick burst forth. "Do you think it's you I care about?"
The other man replied softly into the darkness, "You mean, I've implicated Christina?"
"You've admitted that she knows—and shields you!"
"So she does, poor girl! But don't think I shall put either Chris or me to the horrors of a trial. I seem to have given some proof that I carry a revolver. And I haven't the least fear of being taken alive."