"Why, my dear child?" he asked lightly. "Because you happened to
be in the room when a crime was committed?"
"But he has a perfect case against me," sighed Dale.
"That's absurd!"
"No."
"YOU DON'T MEAN?" said the Doctor aghast.
Dale looked at him with horror in her face.
"I didn't kill him!" she insisted anew. "But, you know the piece
of blue-print you found in his hand?"
"Yes," from the Doctor tensely.
Dale's nerves, too bitterly tested, gave way at last under the
strain of keeping her secret. She felt that she must confide in
someone or perish. The Doctor was kind and thoughtful--more than
that, he was an experienced man of the world--if he could not
advise her, who could? Besides, a Doctor was in many ways like a
priest--both sworn to keep inviolate the secrets of their
respective confessionals.
"There was another piece of blue-print, a larger piece--" said
Dale slowly, "I tore it from him just before--"
The Doctor seemed greatly excited by her words. But he controlled
himself swiftly.
"Why did you do such a thing?"
"Oh, I'll explain that later," said Dale tiredly, only too glad to
be talking the matter out at last, to pay attention to the logic of
her sentences. "It's not safe where it is," she went on, as if the
Doctor already knew the whole story. "Billy may throw it out or
burn it without knowing--"
"Let me understand this," said the Doctor. "The butler has the
paper now?"
"He doesn't know he has it.
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