Rascon was sullenly silent.
"Are they true? Come now, you'll have to answer that sometime, Rascon."
"Yes," replied the crook detective, defiantly.
Doyle turned to us with an air of triumph, as though he had gained a great admission, though I could not see, for the life of me, why he should be so elated at having merely begun.
"I've just read this one," remarked Kennedy, quietly, picking up the report we had all glanced through. "It's true—you say—but it isn't the whole truth, Rascon."
Rascon maintained his sullen silence, but there was a furtive cast in his glance that had not been present in the defiance of Doyle. Evidently in his mind was running the thought, "Just what is it that this man, Kennedy, may know, and how am I going to keep from being too clever and tripping myself up?" I knew it to be a situation in which Kennedy frankly reveled, this interplay of wits.
"There's a break here," prompted Kennedy, with a positiveness that was palpably disconcerting to Rascon.
Kennedy fixed his gaze on Rascon, who fidgeted and finally weakened.
"Well, you see," he admitted, "Mr. Wilford came in at that point—said to watch them—and left. I didn't think that it was necessary to put that in the report—to him."
"Did Mrs. Wilford see him there?" demanded Kennedy, quickly.