His words rang out so vibrantly that Stone gave him a quick glance. “You’re sure?” he asked, as it seemed, involuntarily.
“I am,” responded Elliott, with a satisfied nod of his handsome head.
“But your being sure doesn’t help much, Mason,” Eunice said, a despondent look coming into her eyes. “Are you sure, Mr. Stone?”
“I can’t quite answer that question yet, Mrs. Embury,” the courteous voice replied. “Remember, I’ve only just begun to look into the matter.”
“But you know all about it—from Mr. Shane and Mr. Driscoll.”
“I know what they think about it—but that’s a different story.”
“You don’t agree with their deductions, then?” asked Hendricks.
“I don’t agree with their premises—therefore—” Stone smiled cryptically, and left the sentence unfinished and ambiguous, which was his deliberate intention.
“We will have coffee in the living-room,” said Eunice, as she rose from the table. Always a charming hostess, she was at her best to-night. Her thin black gown was becoming and made her fair throat and arms seem even whiter by contrast.
She stood back, as the others left the room, and Hendricks, tarrying, too, came close to her.