Casually he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew forth the peculiar bean which I had picked up on the floor of Wilford's office. He stood there for a moment, as though absent-mindedly toying with it, his back toward us.
I glanced about. The action was not lost on any of them, but I watched the face of Honora more especially. She started forward, then caught herself. For the moment I thought she might have fainted. But she did not.
"What's the idea, Kennedy?" burst out Shattuck, impatiently, observing. "Is it just some little theatricals—or is it a little Spanish Inquisition stuff?"
"Just a moment, Shattuck," interrupted Doyle, who needed not very much provocation to boil over. "Mrs. Wilford," he shot out, suddenly, before she had recovered her composure, "you have not been frank, either with the police or with Mr. Kennedy. Some one besides you and your husband was in that office that night."
"I—in the office?" she repeated, blankly.
"Yes—in the office. We know there was a woman there."
"I was not there," she asserted, positively.
"Some one besides you and your husband—a man—was there," reiterated Doyle, ignoring her denial.
Kennedy was still half turned away. Nor did he show any disposition to interrupt Doyle. I looked at Doyle, wondering why Kennedy did not interrupt the detective's third degree.
Remorselessly Doyle pressed home his questioning.