Jefferson rose slowly to his feet, his eyes glittering ominously. “Do you want me to kick you out of the room?” he said in a strangely quiet voice.
Roger leaned back in his chair and watched him unmoved.
“Do I understand that you refuse to answer?” he said evenly. “You refuse to tell me where you were between, say, one and three o’clock on the morning that Stanworth died?”
“Most decidedly I do. And I want to know what the hell you think that has to do with you?”
“It may have nothing and it may have everything,” Roger said calmly. “But I advise you to tell me, if not for your own sake at least for the lady’s.”
If this was a chance shot, it had certainly got home. Jefferson’s face took on a deeper tinge and his eyes widened in sheer fury. He clenched his fists till the knuckles showed up white and menacing.
“Damn you, Sheringham, that’s about enough!” he muttered, advancing towards the other. “I don’t know what the devil you think you’re playing at, but——”
A sudden bluff darted into Roger’s mind. After all, what was a man like Jefferson doing as secretary to a man like Stanworth? He decided to risk it.
“Before you do anything rash, Jefferson,” he said quickly, “I’d like to ask you another question. What was Stanworth blackmailing you for?”
There are times when bluff pays. This was one of them. Jefferson stopped short in his stride, his hands fell limply to his sides and his jaw drooped open. It was as if he had been struck by a sudden and unexpected bullet.