further back against the sideboard. Her eyes were fixed upon his, but her face was inscrutable.
"I cannot," she said slowly. "I can tell you nothing."
Wrayson was speechless for a moment. It was not only the words themselves, but the note of absolute finality with which they were uttered, which staggered him. Then he found himself laughing, a sound so unnatural and ominous that, for the first time, fear shone in the girl's eyes.
"Don't," she cried, and her hands flashed towards him for a moment as though the sight of him hurt her. "Don't be angry! Have pity on me instead."
His nerves, already overwrought, gave way.
"Pity on a murderess, a thief!" he cried. "Not I! I have suffered enough for my folly. I will go and tell the truth to-morrow. It was you who killed him. You did it in the cab and stole back to his rooms to rob—afterwards. Horrible! Horrible!"
Her face hardened. His lack of self-control seemed to stimulate her.
"Have it so," she declared. "I never asked you for your silence. If you repent it, go and make the best bargain you can with the law. They will let you off cheaply in exchange for your information!"
He walked the length of the room and back. Anything to escape from her eyes. Already he hated the words which he had spoken. When he faced her again he was master of himself.
"Listen," he said; "I was a little overwrought. I spoke wildly. I have no right to make such an accusation. But———"
She held out her hand as though to stop him, but he went steadily on.
