"Adele!" he managed to reply.
"What about her?"
"Somebody's—somebody's killed her, Jo, they say. They say somebody's killed her."
"Ket!"
"By God, Jo!" he cried and put out his hand and grasped hers and held to it like a child. He looked more like a boy than ever she had seen him with the hurt on his head swollen and discolored.
"When was it?" she begged.
Ket did not reply to this, but the man in plain clothes said, "Just now." And when she asked, "How—how was it?" he replied as briefly, "Shot."
"Jo," cried Ket, wringing her hand. "They say I did it!"
"Ket!"
"Oh, my God," he voiced. "I tried to tie the can to Adele. I know I did that. I tried to tie the can to the kid; but I wouldn't hurt Adele. They must know I wouldn't hurt the poor kid."
"That's enough now," the man in plain clothes suddenly commanded. "Take him in there," he pointed the uniformed officer to the bedroom. "I'll talk to her here." And he jerked Ket's hand from hers.
"She's been with me since I got home just after twelve!" Ket cried before the plain-clothes man ordered, "Shut up!" and the uniformed policeman pushed him into the bedroom and closed the two doors between.
"Sit down now, if you want," the plain-clothes man bid soothingly, when Joan and he were alone. "My name's Cummins. What did you say yours is?"
She repeated it, grateful for the chance of the few seconds in which to collect her wits.
Adele shot and Ket accused of killing her! Not for a moment did Joan Daisy imagine that he might be
