“Might as well,” Ivy urged. “I know too much to be ignored, and I truly think it would be better for you in every way, to take me into your confidence. Let me help you.” “How can you?” “I don’t know, quite. But I do know that if you stick to your story of having been there yourself, when you were not, you’ll get a whole lot of unpleasant notoriety, if nothing worse.” “Meaning?” “Suspicion. Accusation. Maybe arrest.” Phyllis jumped. “Arrest!” she whispered, and her eyes stared in horror. “Well, maybe not that,” Ivy soothed her, “but, you tell me all about it. Look here, Miss Lindsay, I’m a better detective than half the men on the force. And, say, I know a little girl—well, I don’t suppose you’d want her—but start straight now—tell me everything you know. Let me be your father confessor.” “But I’ve nothing to confess.” “You haven’t! How about that story—fib you just told about going to Mr Gleason’s house—when you didn’t go.” “You don’t know that I didn’t.” “Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you how I know. It was Louis who went there—not you!” “You didn’t see him.” “No, and I didn’t hear him—or I should have known at once. But it was Louis, of course, and when Mr Gleason said ‘You’re both Lindsays,’ and referred to the stepmother, of course it fitted Louis as well as you. Louis wanted money—you know that?” “Yes, I know that.” “Has he got it—yet?” “He will have it to-morrow. A—a friend is going to let me have it for him.” “Who?” “Mr Pollard.” “You seem to be able to get money easily!” “Mr Pollard is my fiance.” Phyllis remembered suddenly that Pollard had told her she might want to say that, and just now, in the presence of this girl of a lower class and of a lesser degree of refinement, Phyllis felt a sudden impulse to justify her position. To her mind, to take money from one’s fiance made correct what would otherwise be a questionable thing to do. “Oho! I see! Why, I thought you and Mr Barry were pals.” “We are. Good pals. But I am engaged to Mr Pollard.” “And you’re to get the money for Louis—in time?” “Yes—in time. You know?” “I know he’ll be jailed if he doesn’t fork over about twenty thousand to that old shark!” “Never mind details. Now, truly, Ivy, do you think Buddy was at Mr Gleason’s that day?” “I don’t think it, I know it. And, Phyllis—he—he killed him.” In the gravity of the moment neither noticed the intimate use of the name. Phyllis looked at the other, her eyes full of a dumb agony. “Don’t!” she begged, “don’t say it!” “Better face it, dear. I am positive. You see it all hangs together. That old maid person on the floor above, saw a young man come in, and I know it was Louis. Where was he at that time? I mean, where does he say he was?” “I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. Oh, Ivy, he didn’t?—he couldn’t——”