He was leaning across the table with folded arms, his eyes fixed on her face. She avoided his gaze, and her hands tortured a small handkerchief. Clearly she was moved almost beyond endurance.

“Oh, leave me alone,” she cried. “Can’t you understand, Mr. Labar. You are a decent man. I don’t know what is the right thing to do. I can only tell you that I gave you that note for⁠—for someone else. I never knew⁠—I never realised what it all meant. I came to tell you that. You mustn’t ask me anything else.”

He came towards her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “You poor child,” he said, and there was genuine sympathy in his tone. “If I were your elder brother, my dear girl, I should give you the same advice that I’m offering you now. Get this off your mind. Tell me everything.”

“You can lock me up,” she said, faintly. “It will make no difference.”