“Oh, but they will, they will! When they find out I brought that gun with me, they’ll say I came here with the intention of killin’ him. I’ll never be able to convince them different. They’ll make it look like I meant to shoot him all along. Don’t you see, Bearcat, I’m lost!”

The Bearcat got up like one in a dream and picked up the gun.

“Is this my gun?” he asked listlessly.

“Yes,” Babe said.

The Bearcat dropped into a chair. He wiped his face and mouth with his hand and looked at the gun. He rubbed his hands all over the weapon and then gripped it by the butt.

“I done it!” he said simply. “I killed him! I killed him, d’you hear?”

Babe drew an inward sigh of relief. She had accomplished her purpose.

“Oh, no, no! Bearcat, I couldn’t—couldn’t let you take the blame! I couldn’t let you go through all that—for me. That’s askin’ too much of you!”

“No, it ain’t,” he said. His voice grew firmer in his determination. “No, it ain’t. I’m your husband, ain’t I? I catch this guy here tryin’ to attack you, an’ I kill him. Why, there ain’t a jury in the world that’d convict me of murder in a case like this!”

“Maybe—maybe you’re right, Bearcat,” Babe said and threw her arms around him.

“I know I’m right,” he said. “I’ll—I’ll call the police now!”

“Wait, wait,” cried Babe. “We’ve got to get a straight story to tell them, or the cops’ll get us twisted up. How did you come to be down in the street?”

“I tried to tell you when I first came in,” he said. “I met Jenny and she said you was here. Knowin’ what kind of joints are in this row of houses, I stepped on the gas an’ shot over here from 125th an’ Broadway where I was parked. I got so excited thinkin’ of seein’ you again after so long, I didn’t get the number of the house. But I knew about where it was. So I parked down there watchin’ for you. Then when I seen you waving out the window I dashed up here.”