He wished to speak out and tell the now
laughing policemen the brief story of Logan's hurried visit to the
club.
Down would go the half-full champagne glasses on the table. The
cheerful grins would be wiped from the two strong faces as by an
artist who, with a stroke, changes the expression of a portrait. Peter
Rolls's word was at least as good as Jim Logan's. Questions would be
asked. Jottings would be made in notebooks. Perhaps they would both
have to go to the police station. The girl's name would be demanded;
Logan might be forced to tell it. That would be one way of finding
Winifred--but it would be a way intolerable.
If only Peter were certain--as certain as he was of her
innocence--that she wasn't hidden in the house, he would let the
detectives go quietly and get the truth out of Logan himself
afterward. But--could he be certain? Had he a right to take such
chances when the girl's safety might depend on police knowledge of her
whereabouts?
It was reasonable to suppose that Logan had put her into the street
after the giving of the alarm and before he ran to the club. Yet he
might not have done so. She might be fainting, or even dead.
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