“At the time of the murder? Oh, no!” Phyllis’ eyes were wide with horror. “Do you know that Louis was there?” Pollard pressed the question, glad that Phyllis had abandoned pretense, and was telling truths. “Yes, I do.” The pained eyes looked beseechingly into his. “I have the evidence of an eye-witness—or, nearly.” “What do you mean by nearly?” “Why, somebody else was there, who didn’t see Louis, but who heard him—or, rather, heard Mr Gleason talking to him.” “Is that all? Phyllis, that isn’t enough to convict Louis!” “Isn’t it? But, if they accuse him—he’ll break down and confess. I know Buddy; as soon as a breath of suspicion touches him he’ll go all to pieces——” “Whether he’s guilty or not?” Phyllis stared. “Why, no, of course not if he isn’t guilty. Oh, Manning, do you think he isn’t? Tell me you do!” “I wish I could, darling. But, I do say, there’s no real evidence and we may be able to prevent any from coming to light. Even if Louis was there, didn’t he leave before the time of the attack?” “I don’t know. I can’t find out. I daren’t mention it to him. Oh, Buddy, dear—I’m sure you never did it!” “I’m sure, too,” said Pollard, decidedly, and, whatever was in his mind there was conviction in his tone. “Now, see here, Phyllis, let’s do nothing in the matter. As near as I can make out, Barry’s confession is not believed at all by the police. They are sure he’s shielding some one, but they don’t know who it is. Of course, Barry won’t tell, so Louis is safe.” “But suppose they do come to believe Phil, and he is arrested!” “Not a chance.” “But if they should?” “Would you care so much?” Pollard spoke softly, and tenderly. “If it should mean Louis’ safety——” “At the expense of an innocent man? Oh, impossible!” “But you love Buddy——” “I do, yes—but if he is guilty—nobody else can be allowed to suffer in his place. Least of all, Phil Barry.” Phyllis said the name, with a gentler light in her eyes, a softer inflection of her voice, and Pollard felt a sudden chill at his heart. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, quietly, “anything especial?” “No—oh, no,” but Phyllis blushed. “Remember, dear, you’re engaged to me,” Pollard said, smiling at her. “I resent such implications of any other interest of yours.” “You resent my interest in Phil Barry! Why, I thought he was your best friend.” “He is. But he can’t be yours. Not your best friend—only second-best.” “Well, he’s too dear a friend for me to let any undeserved suspicion fall on him,” and Phyllis’ eyes shone with righteous indignation. “First, we must be sure it is undeserved.” “Very well, I will make sure!” With a determined gesture, Phyllis pushed a bell button and a maid responded. “Ask Mr Lindsay to come here,” Phyllis directed, and then turning to Pollard with a pretty gesture of confidence, she said: “Let’s work together, Manning. You see what you think of the way Louis meets my questions. I’ve decided to meet the issue straight.”