"Let go, Mr. Blackburn. You've done your share, the Lord knows. You've caught the beast with the goods."
Bobby released the slender fingers. He saw them vanish through the opening. He left the bed and reluctantly approached the door to the private hall. Excited phrases roared in his ears. He scarcely dared listen because of their possible confirmation of his doubt. The fingers, he repeated to himself, had been too slender. The moment that had freed him from fear of his own guilt had constructed in its place an uncertainty harder to face. Yet there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Sooner or later he must learn whether Katherine had hidden the evidence, whether she had used the stout and deadly hatpin, whether she struggled now in the grasp of vindictive men.
A voice from the corridor arrested him.
"Bobby!"
With a glad cry he swung around. Katherine stood in the opposite doorway. Her presence there, beyond a doubt, was her exculpation. He crossed the sombre room. He grasped her hands. He smiled happily. After all, the hand he had held was not as slender as hers.
"Thank heavens you're here."
In a word he recited the result of his vigil.
"It clears you," she said. "Quick! We must see who it is."
But he lingered, for he wanted that ugly fear done with once for all.
"You can tell me now how the evidence got in your room."