"I think the only thing for us to do," I said, "is to tell what we know,
and save Ivor in spite of himself."
"How can anything you know save him?" she asked, with a queer, faint
emphasis which I didn't understand.
"Don't you see," I cried, "that if we come forward and say we saw him in
the Rue d'Hollande at a quarter past twelve--going into a house
there--he couldn't have murdered the man in that other house, far away.
It all hangs on the time."
"But you didn't see him go in," Lisa contradicted me.
I stared at her. "_You_ did. Isn't it the same thing?"
"No, not unless I choose to say so."
"And--but you will choose. You want to save him, of course."
"Why?"
"Because he's innocent. Because he's your friend."
"No man is the friend of any woman, if he's in love with another."
"Oh, Lisa, does sophistry of that sort matter? Does anything matter
except saving him?"
"I don't consider," she said, in a slow, aggravating way, "that Ivor
Dundas has behaved very well to--to our family. But I want you to
understand this, Di. If he is to be got out of this danger--no doubt
it's real danger--in any such way as you propose, it's for _me_ to do
it, not you.
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