“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?”