"For what, may I ask, am I indebted to you for this visit?" inquired Shattuck with almost insulting bruskness as the boy stood at the door, admitting us, then carefully closed the door to the outer office.
I felt angry at the tone, but Kennedy kept his temper admirably.
"I suppose," began Craig, clearing his throat and speaking as deliberately as ever Shattuck did, "that you know the story about Mrs. Lathrop?"
"Some one on the street called my attention to it," Shattuck prevaricated, rather than admit interest.
"I thought you might be in a position to explain it—at least to throw some light on it," pursued Kennedy, directly. "I'm quite interested, naturally."
"Explain it?" flared Shattuck, eagerly seizing on something that would divert the main issue. "Explain it? Why, you and Doyle and the newspapers"—nodding insultingly at me—"ought to be able to do that best, don't you think? It's you all that have caused a great deal of trouble. Judging by what I read and hear, you know more about our affairs in this case than we do ourselves. I'd suggest that perhaps our positions should be reversed. I might appeal to you for information, rather than have you coming around here appealing to me."
Not only was it what he said, but it was even more the tone and manner in which he said it that seemed to rub Kennedy the wrong way. As for myself, I must confess that I was boiling over at the bravado of the man.
I would have come back with a quick remark—and probably have exposed my hand and done exactly what Shattuck expected, for there was no denying that he was clever with a gambler's cleverness and nerve.
It was not so with Kennedy. For a moment he paused, as though checking a first remark; then he spoke in the same measured and considered tones as at the start.
"I can tell you, Shattuck, that I don't like the attitude either you or Mrs. Wilford assume."