He stared at Eunice as he talked. It was quite evident he meant to frighten her—almost to accuse her.
But with her strange contradictoriness, she smiled at him.
“You have stated a problem, Mr. Shane, to which there can be no answer. Therefore, that is not the problem that confronts us.”
“Fine talk—fine talk, lady, but it won’t get you anywhere. To the unbiased, logical mind, the answer must be that it’s the work of the other two people.”
“Then yours is not a logical or unbiased mind,” Hendricks flared out, “and I object to your making implications. If you are making accusations, do so frankly, and let us know where we stand! If not, shut up!”
Shane merely looked at him, without resenting this speech. The detective appeared to be marking time as he awaited the return of his partner.
And Driscoll returned, shortly. His manner betokened success in his quest, whatever it may have been, and yet he looked distressed, too.
“It’s a queer thing,” he said, half to himself, as he fell into a chair Shane pushed toward him. “Mrs. Embury, do you keep an engagement book?”
“Why, yes,” replied Eunice, amazed at the question put to her.
“Let me see it, please.”