"We're glad to have you," said Laura, in her affable way, "and, as we have finished luncheon, we will have our coffee in the library, where we can be more comfortable."
Although Lawrence seemed perfectly at ease, and unconscious of any reason to fear Fleming Stone's investigations, I couldn't help feeling that his air of ease was assumed. It was not so much any signs of nervousness or sensitiveness about him, as it was the pronounced absence of these. It seemed to me that he was playing a part of straightforward fearlessness, but was slightly overdoing it.
Fleming Stone talked to Lawrence casually, referring once to his perfect alibi. George remarked that though he had no fear of suspicion falling in his direction, it gave him a feeling of satisfaction to know that he could satisfactorily account for his whereabouts at the time the murder was committed.
"And now," said Mr. Stone, after the coffee service had been removed, "I think I will make my examination of the apartment opposite. It is not probable that I will discover anything in the nature of a clue, but as a detective I certainly must examine the scene of the crime. I would prefer to go alone, if you will give a key. I will rejoin you here after my search."
Janet gave Mr. Stone her key, and without further word he crossed the hall alone to what had been the Pembrokes' apartment.
After Fleming Stone's departure a strange chill fell on the mental atmosphere of our little party. George Lawrence seemed to lose his careless air, and a grayish pallor settled on his face, notwithstanding his apparent effort to appear as usual. Janet watched her cousin closely, and she herself seemed on the verge of nervous collapse. Laura, like the blessed woman she is, strove bravely to keep up, but I saw that she too felt that the end was near. As for myself, remembering Fleming Stone's promise, I seemed to be possessed, to the exclusion of all else, of a great fear for Janet.
It could not have been more than ten minutes, if as much as that, before Fleming Stone returned.
As he entered our library he seemed to have lost his professional aspect, and I thought I had never seen a sadder or more sympathetic expression than I read in his eyes.
"Mr. Lawrence," he said, without preamble, "it is my duty to arrest you for the murder of your uncle, Robert Pembroke."
For a moment there was no sound, and then, with a pathetic, heart-breaking little cry, Janet said: "Oh, I hoped so that it wasn't you!"