"I didn't catch his name," Paredes answered.
"I'd never seen him before. I gathered he was a friend of hers—connected with the profession. Now I shall telephone with your permission, Miss Katherine; and don't you worry, Bobby. I will see you through; but we can't do much until the coroner comes, until the detective can be made to talk."
Katherine hesitated for a moment, then she surrendered.
"Please go with him, Hartley, and—and make him as comfortable as you can in this unhappy house."
Katherine detained Bobby with a nod. He saw the others go. He shrank, in his mental and physical discomfort, from this isolation with her. As soon as the door was closed she touched his hand. She burst out passionately:
"I don't believe it, Bobby. I'll never believe it no matter what happens."
"It's sweet of you, Katherine," he said huskily. "That helps when you don't know what to believe yourself."
"Don't talk that way. Such a crime would never have entered your head under any conditions. Only, Bobby, it ought never to have happened. You ought never to have been in this position. Why have you been friendly with people like—like that Spaniard? What can he want, forcing himself here? At any rate, you'll never lead that sort of life again?"
Her fingers sought his. He clasped them firmly.
"If I get past this," he said, "I'll always look you straight in the eye, Katherine. It was mad—silly. You don't quite understand—"