“Not only, as Daisy says, because he had free manners, but he was silly, beside. Always saying, ‘Well, little one, how do you like my new necktie?’ or some foolishness like that.”
Richard Bates looked uncomfortable. “Need I stay?” he inquired. “You must realize I dislike to hear this talk about my uncle.”
“Stay, please,” returned Corson, briefly; “and, young ladies, don’t give us any more of your opinions of Sir Herbert, but tell, if you know, of any circumstance bearing on his death.”
Apparently none knew of any such, and the girls looked at each other in silence.
“And now, tell me where you were at two A. M., each of you, and then you may be excused.”
Every one declared that she had been home and in bed at that hour, except Julie Baxter. She, with a fine show of independence, refused to disclose her whereabouts at that time.
“There it is again,” said Corson in despair. “Now, Miss Baxter, I don’t think that your reticence necessarily incriminates you at all, but it leaves room for doubt. Take my word for it, it would be wiser and far better for you to tell frankly where you were, even if it calls for criticism from your mates.”
“But I won’t tell,” and Julie looked very stubborn.
“You’d rather be arrested and held on suspicion?”
“You can’t arrest me without a speck of evidence! Nor you can’t scare me by such threats.”