“Sit down,” said Simmonds; “I want to talk to you. We’re up against a tough proposition.”
Godfrey sat down and looked at him.
“Yes, we are,” he agreed.
“What do you think of it?”
“I’m more inclined to think Jimmy guilty than I was last night.”
“You saw, then, that she was trying to protect him?” asked Simmonds eagerly.
“I saw there was some understanding between them. Don’t let your theory of Jimmy’s guilt carry you away. Besides, there’s a good deal to say on the other side. There wasn’t enough finish about it to look like Jimmy. He’d think a long time before he killed a man with a third person looking on.”
“But if it was self-defence?”
Godfrey raised his eyebrows expressively.
“I think she was drawing the long bow myself,” agreed Simmonds, quickly; “and there can be only one reason for it—she’s trying to protect Jimmy, or whoever it was killed Thompson. It was Jimmy, I tell you—he was jealous of her”
“Oh, nonsense!” interrupted Godfrey impatiently. “A love affair between those two! You’ve been reading French romances, Simmonds!”
“Maybe I have; but I’ve run across stranger things than that right here in New York. This is a bad snarl, any way you look at it. Here’s a point, now—how could Thompson, who was dead drunk at seven o’clock, be wide awake at eight? How could he have heard Miss Croydon’s knock?”
“Maybe it wasn’t Thompson who opened the door.”
