“Of course.”
“Then—then, dear, tell the exact truth—to everybody and in every particular. If you suspect I killed the lady, and if you are asked, say so. If the gloves are yours, say so. If you know anything about the scarab, tell it. Tell everything, but always tell it the same. This will be easy, if you tell the truth every time.”
“But—Tommy, they will arrest me”
“No, they won’t. Don’t be afraid of that. Shall I tell you why they are suspecting—or pretending to suspect you?”
“Why?”
“They don’t really think you are guilty, dear, but they think that by accusing you—they can get hold of me. They know I love you—I believe they knew it before I knew it myself!”
“Didn’t you know it the night of the party?”
“No! Hadn’t an idea of such a thing! It’s come on suddenly—and I’ve a bad attack!”
“Oh, Tommy—I want you!”
“Hush, dear—don’t talk like that—I can’t stand it. Pearl Jane, there’s much more to this whole dreadful business than you can imagine. Or than anyone else imagines. So, keep up a good heart, and—what did you promise to do?”
“Trust you, Tommy.”
“And do you?”
“Yes—until I see you—and after that—forever.”
“Sweetheart! Good-by.”
The voice ceased—and, in a sort of daze, Pearl Jane hung up her receiver.
What did it all mean? Where was Tommy? Why couldn’t he come to her? Unless—no, she knew—she knew he was not guilty. Her Tommy guilty?
