Gibbs realized that these two women took such pleasure in their bickerings and faultfindings that they really enjoyed their antagonism.
And Miss Eliza Gurney was equally interested in the exchange of sarcastic repartee.
They kept on with their sparring until Gibbs began to feel not only uncomfortable but impatient.
“I called, Miss Prall,” he began, but Mrs Everett interrupted:
“Oh, I know what for,” she cried, clasping her fat hands, and giving an unpleasant little giggle, “to talk about the murder! Yes, yes, and please don’t mind me. I want to hear the details; have you found out who did it? Who was it? Was it those sweet little dancing girlies? I can’t think it!”
“Keep quiet, Adeline,” said Miss Prall; “how you do run on! I should think you’d have the tact to take your leave,—but you never had even ordinary good manners. I can scarcely invite you to depart, but I do feel privileged to say you may go if you feel you must.”
“Oh, I don’t feel I must at all! On the contrary, I want to stay and hear the news. For I’m sure this gentleman has some news. I can see it sticking out all over him! Go ahead, sir, tell your story. I feel I’m entitled to be in the audience.”
She settled herself in her chair and looked as if nothing less than a really severe earthquake would move her. Her big round eyes danced from Letitia’s face to the detective’s. Her smile broadened as she enjoyed the discomfiture of her enforced hostess. And she positively reveled in the awkward and embarrassed silence that fell on all in the room.
Then Eliza Gurney said, “Adeline Everett, if you take my advice, you’ll go away before you’re put out!”
“I’ve never taken your advice yet, Eliza, and I don’t propose to begin now. Also, you’d better not put me out, for if you do, I shall think that what Mr Gibbs is about to reveal is something you don’t want known,—something incriminating to some of your own people!”