“No, I was just going over a little business with your mother. We’ll have to be going downtown soon though. We’re due at the coroner’s inquest at two o’clock.”
“Shall I come with you?” Marjorie asked quickly.
“No, indeed, Mrs. Benton—not at all necessary,” Hammond assured her. “Nothing will go wrong. You must try to trust me implicitly, Mrs. Benton. Rest all you can. We may have a case before us, and then you will require your strength, but I assure there is nothing to fear. We will have to hurry a bit, my boy,” Hammond went on, in his curt, businesslike manner that he had discarded with Marjorie. “We can talk in my car on the way to town. I’ll leave a message with Griggs for your father. I want him to bring Elinor down ahead of time, so that I can have a few words with her. Good-by, Mrs. Benton,” and he held both her hands in a warm, firm grip, “keep up your courage, little woman! Everything’s going to be all right!”
“I feel assured of that, Mr. Hammond.” She smiled as brightly as possible. “How could it be otherwise—in your capable hands. When will I know anything?”
“We’ll ’phone you just as soon as it’s over. I’m going to see Griggs a moment—I’ll meet you in the car, Howard.”
“Good-by, mother.” Howard held his mother tightly in his arms for a moment. Strange what comfort he got from those arms—how new that comfort was—that he had never known these years. He kissed her mouth and the eyes which bravely forced back the tears. “Don’t you worry, dear!”
Hugh Benton and his daughter arrived at John Hammond’s office but a short time after his arrival there with the financier’s accused son. He had had time for only a short talk with Howard, who only repeated his story of the night before, when Hugh and Elinor were announced.
“They might just as well come in now,” he told Howard. “There are some questions I would like to ask you and your sister together.”
Elinor Benton, pale, and dramatically conscious of the part she played in her own mind of being all but widowed, entered the inner office of the lawyer leaning heavily on the arm of her father. John Hammond frowned annoyedly when he saw she had chosen to costume herself in black; that she gave all outward evidences of being grief stricken, and he thought it ill became her at such a time. But he was not altogether surprised. He had known the girl since she was a tiny child, and her character was an open book to him.
“Sit down,” he said, brusquely, motioning to them to be seated. “This will not take very long.”