She didn't say whether he had. She turned and began walking slowly across the grass. There was nothing for me to do but walk along beside her. Full darkness was only a few minutes away. Presently, when we had gone thirty or forty feet from the car, she said:
'Mr. Andrews thinks you suspect him.'
'He's right.'
'Of what do you suspect him?'
'Juggling the estate. Mind, I don't know, but I do suspect him.'
'Really?'
'Really,' I said; 'and not of anything else.'
'Oh, I should suppose that was quite enough.'
'It's enough for me. I didn't think it was enough for you.'
'I beg your pardon?'
I didn't like the ground I was on with this woman. I was afraid of her. I piled up what facts I had, put some guesses on them, and took a jump from the top of the heap into space:
'When you got out of prison, you sent for Andrews, pumped him for all he knew, and then, when you learned he was playing with the girl's pennies, you saw what looked to you like a chance to confuse things by throwing suspicion on him. The old boy's woman-crazy: he'd be ducksoup for a woman like you. I don't know what you're planning to do with him, but you've got him started, and have got the papers started after him. I take it you gave them the tip-off on his high financing? It's no good, Mrs. Haldorn. Chuck it. It won't work. You can stir him up, all right, and make him do something criminal, get him into a swell jam: he's desperate enough now that he's being poked at. But whatever he does now won't hide what somebody else did in the past. He's promised to get the estate in order and hand it over. Let him alone. It won't work.'
She didn't say anything while we took another dozen steps. A path came under our feet. I said:
'This is the path that runs up the cliff, the one Eric Collinson was pushed from. Did you know him?'
She drew in her breath sharply, with almost a sob in her throat, but her voice was steady, quiet and musical, when she replied:
'You know I did. Why should you ask?'
'Detectives like questions they already know the answers to. Why did you come down here, Mrs. Haldorn?'
'Is that another whose answer you know?'
'I know you came for one or both of two reasons.'
'Yes?'
'First, to learn how chose we were to our riddle's answer. Right?'
'I've my share of curiosity, naturally,' she confessed.
'I don't mind making that much of your trip a success. I know the answer.'
She stopped in the path, facing me, her eyes phosphorescent in the deep twilight. She put a hand on my shoulder: she was taller than I. The other hand was in her coat-pocket. She put her face nearer mine. She spoke very slowly, as if taking great pains to be understood:
'Tell me truthfully. Don't pretend. I don't want to do an unnecessary wrong. Wait, wait--think before you speak--and believe me when I say this isn't the time for pretending, for lying, for bluffing. Now tell me the truth: do you know the answer?'
'Yeah.'
She smiled faintly, taking her hand from my shoulder, saying:
'Then there's no use of our fencing.'
I jumped at her. If she had fired from her pocket she might have plugged me. But she tried to get the gun out. By then I had a hand on her wrist. The bullet went into the ground between our feet. The nails of her free hand put three red ribbons down the side of my face. I tucked my head under her chin, turned my hip to her before her knee came up, brought her body hard against mine with one arm around her, and bent her gun-hand behind her. She dropped the gun as we fell. I was on top. I stayed there until I had found the gun. I was getting up when MacMan arrived.
'Everything's eggs in the coffee,' I told him, having trouble with my voice.
'Have to plug her?' he asked, looking at the woman lying still on the ground.
'No, she's all right. See that the chauffeur's behaving.'
MacMan went away. The woman sat up, tucked her legs under her, and rubbed her wrist. I said:
'That's the second reason for your coming, though I thought you meant it for Mrs. Collinson.'
She got up, not saying anything. I didn't help her up, not wanting her to know how shaky I was. I said:
'Since we've gone this far, it won't do any harm and it might do some good to talk,'
'I don't think anything will do any good now.' She set her hat straight. 'You say you know. Then lies are worthless, and only lies would help.' She shrugged. 'Well, what now?'
'Nothing now, if you'll promise to remember that the time for being desperate is past. This kind of thing splits up in three parts--being caught, being convicted, and being punished. Admit it's too late to do anything about
