It meant nothing at all to the police. To me? What did I know?
"Go back to her, Steve," Jerry begged. "But, old fellow!" he held me.
"What?"
"You'll believe there's Keeban? Think, Steve! If you don't, you'll believe I did that!"
"No! I know you couldn't."
"And you'll keep on knowing? You'll always know?"
"Jerry!" I cried.
"Your word, Steve?"
"Of course."
"Go back, now, to her."
I left him to be dragged, limp, down the corridor between the big, uniformed men.
In the grimy room, Dorothy Crewe had lost consciousness again; she was quiet; there was nothing I could do for her.
A pair of shots sounded; a couple more, almost together; and yells.
I knew the trouble before they shouted it to us; Jerry had got away. Instantly, without a jerk of warning, he had sprung from their hands as they dragged him, all limp the second before; he was out of a door and gone; and their loud bullets bagged them nothing.
