"Where was you, Mr. Steve Fanneal?" he challenged.
"I'd gone home, then."
"Then where was you?" he swung back to Jerry.
"I'd gone to the Drake."
"Leavin' your partner at Mr. Sparling's? I thought you said you took her there."
"I did."
"Then why didn't you take her away?"
"I'll tell him, Jerry," I said; for I felt the sudden strength of his suspicion. At first, he had spoken alike to Jerry and to me; but now he treated me and my word in one way and Jerry and his word in another. I was the known, actual son of Austin Fanneal; Jerry, as everybody knew, was the waif of any blood from anywhere.
"You can't, Steve," Jerry warned.
But there, like the fool I was, I started to tell.
Two big men in uniform came in and each took an arm of Jerry.
The doctor was doing things during most of this time; now and then I noticed a hypodermic needle.
Dorothy Crewe breathed and her eyelids fluttered; she opened her eyes.
Only the grimy ceiling was in her sight; she
