"Don't you think you'd better get out of this?" I asked Obermuller, as
he came into the station a few minutes after I got there.
"No."
"I do."
"Because?"
"Because it won't do you any good to have your name mixed up with a
thing like this."
"But it might do you some good."
I didn't answer for a minute after that. I sat in my chair, my eyes
bent on the floor. I counted the cracks between the chair and the
floor of the office where the Chief was busy with another case. I
counted them six times, back and forth, till my eyes were clear and my
voice was steady.
"You're awfully good," I said, looking up at him as he stood by me.
"You're the best fellow I ever knew. I didn't know men could be so
good to women... But you'd better go--please. It'll be bad enough
when the papers get hold of this, without having them lump you in with
a bad lot like me."
He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a quick little shake.
"Don't say that about yourself. You're not a bad lot."
"But--you saw the purse."
"Yes, I saw it. But it hasn't proved anything to me but this: you're
innocent, Nance, or you're crazy. If it's the first, I want to stand
by you, little girl. If it's the second--good God! I've got to stand
by you harder than ever."
Can you see me sitting there, Mag, in the bright, bare little room,
with its electric lights, still in my white dress and big white hat, my
pretty jacket fallen on the floor beside me? I could feel the sharp
blue eyes of that detective Morris feeding on my miserable face. But I
could feel, too, a warmth like wine poured into me from that big
fellow's voice.