Retreating thus far, reassured when he had
made out that it was the girl alone, he waited for her. And as she
demanded nervously, "Who is it?" it was Patten's disagreeable laugh
which answered her.
"So," he jeered at her, "this is the sort of thing you do when you are
supposed to be out on a case all night!"
Patten here! Had God sent him . . . or the devil? His insult she
passed over. She was not thinking of herself right now, of convention,
of wagging tongues. She was just seeking to understand how this latest
incident might simplify or make more complex her problem.
"I've had my suspicions all along," he laughed evilly. "To-night I
followed and made sure. And now, my fine little white dove, what have
you to say for yourself?"
Might she use Patten? She was but now on her way to Las Estrellas for
aid. She would operate herself, she would take that upon herself, with
no more regard for ethics than for Patten's gossiping tongue. She
believed that she could do it successfully; at the least she must make
the attempt, though Norton died under her hand. The right? She had
the right! The right because she loved him, because he loved her,
because his whole future was at stake. But she must have assistance so
that she submit him to no needless danger, so that she give him every
chance under such circumstances as these.
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