“Not a damn bit!” retorted Jimmy. “But say—you might tell me her name—I’d like t’ know who this posy is that says I did it while she was about it, I don’t see why she didn’t give you my address.”
“I don’t think she has the honour of your acquaintance, Jimmy. You see, she doesn’t move in just your circle. I warn you her word will count more with a jury than yours and Magraw’s together.”
“Well, who is she?” repeated Jimmy impatiently.
“She’s Miss Croydon—sister-in-law of Dickie Delroy.”
The prisoner’s mouth fell open, his colour changed…
“What!” he gasped. “What!”
Then his jaws snapped shut.
“Well,” inquired Simmonds, “what ’ve you got to say?”
“Nothin’,” answered Jimmy sullenly. “Not a damn word. Lock me up, if you’re goin’ to.”
“Simmonds laughed.
“All right; I thought I could take some of the ginger out of you.”
“Lock me up, will you?” repeated Jimmy fiercely. “Come, now; lock me up.”
Simmonds shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the door.
Godfrey, looking at the prisoner, noted his ruffled brow and troubled eyes. Plainly, Jimmy wanted an opportunity to arrange his thoughts—but what was there in the mere mention of Miss Croydon’s name that should so disturb him? What connection could there be between them?
