Adèle Gertstein started to her feet and her eyebrows drew together. “You beast,” she said.
He waved his hand impatiently. “My dear girl,” he said, “I have always been tempted to admire your beauty rather than your brains. I am stating a fact. You elected to come away with me. What can your estimable Gertstein think?”
“I don’t care what he thinks. I shall write to him this minute,” she retorted.
“If I didn’t know you so well, I might think that you were in love with your husband,” he declared. “Upon my soul I am beginning to be sorry I cluttered myself up with you.” He menaced her fiercely with a forefinger. “How long do you think it would be after you had written to him, before Labar would have you in the dock? What is it that the police want you for? Attempted murder! Forgery! Do you think that the detectives will not be watching to get a line on you? You poor fool! From now on you will not lift a finger without my permission, or I will throw you to the police.” He banged his fist fiercely on to a table and glared at her. “Do you get that? Ten, perhaps fifteen years in Aylesbury. That’s what is waiting for you if you start any funny business.”
She flung up an arm as though she feared a physical assault, and indeed during his tirade it seemed as though he was restraining himself from striking her only by an effort. “I didn’t understand, Larry,” she said, shrinking from him. “Of course you are right. I will do whatever you say.”
“I think you will,” he returned grimly. “I think you will eat out of my hand before I am finished with you.”
He turned with an abrupt change of manner to Penelope. “I am sorry to have inflicted this scene upon you, Miss Noelson. It is necessary that people who deal with me should know where they stand.”
There was an inflection in his tone that told her she might apply the lesson to herself. She met the hint scornfully.
“I have had some examples of your methods,” she retorted.
“Then I hope that they have not been lost on you,” he replied, and thrusting his hands deep in his pockets walked from the room.
It was a minute or two before either woman spoke. Then Mrs. Gertstein flung the stub of her cigarette through the open window. “What a devil that man is,” she observed. “How did you come to get here, Pen?”
“Never mind about that,” said Penelope. “He may be back at any moment. Tell me, is it true what he said? Are you escaping from the police?”
The eyes of Mrs. Gertstein avoided her. “In a way—yes,” she confessed in a low voice. “I’ve got into a mess, Pen.”
“And it is for attempted murder as well as for the forgery of that cheque?”
“I didn’t mean anything, Pen. Don’t look at me like that. Honestly I didn’t. Things just happened. I was mad. Oh, Pen, if you knew what I’ve gone through.”
Adèle Gertstein felt sincerely sorry for herself. She turned an appealing face to Penelope. The other girl regarded her inquiringly.
“Who was it that you tried to kill?” she asked.
“A detective man. He had found out about—about the cheque I cashed. I was out of my mind. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Detective Inspector Labar—the man you got me to pass a note to?”
The other’s attitude underwent a swift transition. “Don’t you question me in that tone, Penelope Noelson,” she exclaimed with sudden asperity. “What right have you to judge me? I employed you out of charity and now that things are going against me, you think that you can bully me.” She stamped her foot. “I won’t have it. Who are you to put on airs and graces with me?”
It was as though she had not spoken. Penelope’s eyes were fixed upon her, but they seemed to look right through her. She got to her feet with an air of calm detachment that hid an intensity of feeling, and gripped Mrs. Gertstein’s arm.
“Is he dangerously hurt?” she asked. “Tell me the truth.” Her fingers bit deep in the soft flesh of the other woman. “You have done enough harm as it is. Now tell me.”
Their eyes fought for domination for an instant. The grip on Mrs. Gertstein’s arm tightened, and she saw that in Penelope’s face that she had not seen before.
“It was an accident,” she said slowly as though the words were dragged from her. “I never meant it. I had a knife in my hands and he—”
“Is he dangerously hurt?” persisted Penelope.
“No. It was nothing, Penelope. Just a small cut. I swear it. Why, an hour later he was chasing us in a car. I am sure that he was not hurt.”
Penelope released her arm. “That is all right, then,” she said steadily. “There is only one thing for you to do. At the first chance you must give yourself up. I don’t know how it is to be managed, but you must do it.”
The other woman recoiled from her, her face showing her emotion. “No,” she declared. “I should be mad to do a thing like that. You are mad to suggest it.”
“And if you don’t,” cried Penelope, something of her restraint falling from her, “in what kind of a position will you be? You will be a hunted woman—the slave of every whim and caprice of this man, Larry Hughes. Do you think that you will not be caught sooner or later, and what construction will be put on your flight? Even if the police do not get you, what kind of a life will be yours? Do you believe that Larry Hughes will save you at any risk to himself? Much better to face it all out now than put yourself farther in the wrong.”
Mrs. Gertstein shuddered. “I know,” she
