Before Freeman had placed Lem on Henrietta's bed, Henrietta had her door closed and locked. She stood with her back to the door, facing Freeman when he turned. She had several things she wanted to say to him. She had not the slightest doubt that he had taken Miss Susan's money and there were other things she wished to talk over with him. Her position was becoming more and more difficult each hour. What she meant to say she did not know, and neither did she know what she meant to do when all was said. One thing seemed to her particularly monstrous--that Lem should be held guilty for a theft he had not committed--and in her present state of mind she was ready to sacrifice both Freeman and herself to save Lem. Her own life, and Freeman's, seemed already ruined, and as she stood there she was resolved that before Freeman left the room everything must be decided. Freeman, as he turned, looked at her. He knew by the look on her face and the light in her eyes that she had been driven beyond all patience by this last act of his. “What do you want?” he asked, moving away from the bed. “To talk with you,” Henrietta said. “I am through. This is the end, of course.” “A nice little family chat, I suppose,” he sneered. “Door locked, hubby captured, wifey angry. Act 3, Scene 2. Villain husband lights cigarette.” He took his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out, knocking it on the back of his hand before he lighted it. “Wife glares at husband,” he continued, in the same tone. “Husband nonchalantly crosses stage to chair.” He walked toward the chair that stood by Henrietta's window. “And exit husband,” he said, raising the wire screen of the window and stepping out upon the tin roof of the porch. Henrietta leaped forward, but only in time to hear the crackling of the tin as Freeman crossed to his own window. She heard his screen clatter down, and the creak of his window as he lowered it, and even the grating of the safety lock as he quite satisfactorily locked himself in. For a moment Henrietta looked at her window; then she turned to Lem. “Lem!” she commanded. “Lem, wake up!” The boy did not stir. “Lem!” she said. “Wake up. I know you are only pretending. Stop this fooling; I want to talk to you.” But Lem would not waken. She tried other ways, talking to him all the while, tickling the tough soles of his bare feet and opening his eyelids, but he was not to be coaxed or driven out of the pretended fit. “Very well, then,” Henrietta said, seating herself on the bedside. “I'll talk to you, anyway, for I know you hear me. I know you did not steal Miss Susan's money, but she will never believe that. I know Freeman stole it.” Lem lay as inert as a corpse. If he heard he gave no sign.