“If you think brawn and muscle can prevail against the police you are a fool.” “As it happens I am not a fool on those particular lines, because I think nothing of the kind. I shall use other means to free her.” “What other means?” “I shall confess.” “But I thought you said you didn’t do it.” “Nor did I; nor did she. If Symonds must have a victim, better I than she. To go to the gallows for her sake would be heaven well won.” Hume stared. I might have been shaking him again, his breath came so hardly. “What--do you mean?” “My good Hume, don’t you be afraid for Miss Moore. I assure you she’s in no danger.” “You say you only saw her for the first time last night.” “But that’s a century ago. A myriad things have taken place since, so now it’s just as if I’d known her all my life.” He kept his head averted, looking at me sideways; it was the first time he had shown an indisposition to meet me face to face. “It’s like that? I see.” He drew in his lips to moisten them. “A case of the world well lost for her.” “You’ve hit it, Hume.” “Suppose, for illustration’s sake, that this and that were fitted together so as to make it seem--only seem, you understand--that you actually did kill Lawrence, what then?” “I don’t know what it is, but, in this instance, something seems to be warping your natural intelligence, or I’m persuaded that you’d perceive, as I perceive, that the truth will out, and that before very long.” “Then am I to take it you’ll walk away with banners flying?” “I don’t know about the banners flying, but I’ll walk away.” “With her?” “You’ve no right to say that.” “And what right do you suppose you have to say what you’ve been saying, when you know that she’s to me the light of my eyes, the breath of my nostrils? when, these dozen years and more, since she was a little child in little frocks, I’ve waited on her will, won for her a place upon the stage I hate because she loved it, blazoned abroad her fame, because to be famous was her pleasure, although I knew that every cry of applause took her farther from me still, and farther! And now you come and say that you saw her for the first time last night, yet talk glibly of having known her all your life, and brag of being ready to sacrifice yourself for her. Do you think if she were herself she’d accept your sacrifice?--you speak of knowing her, and yet think that? Go to!--But, see here, if you burn with a desire to make yourself a scapegoat, I am willing.” “You are willing?” “She’ll never be. But if we put together here a little, there a little, line upon line, we’ll make out your guilt so clearly that there’s not a jury which wouldn’t see it, nor a judge who wouldn’t hang you. Shall we arrange it between us, you and I?” “You are very good.”