I think she sensed my restraint, for her handclasp was friendly, even trustful, and we sat down together on a porch settee.
“You’re a frequent caller, Mr. Moore,” she said, almost gaily. “I’m sorry I was so unsatisfactory on the occasion of your other visit; I’ll try to do better this time.”
I looked at her in some apprehension. I felt sure her light manner was assumed, to cover the depths of worry and anxiety that, it seemed to me, showed themselves in her dark eyes.
“I don’t want to bother you too much, Miss Remsen,” Keeley said, “but you can be a real help, if you choose.”
“Of course I choose. Ask me anything you like—I’ll answer.”
She gave a little smile and tossed her head with a pretty gesture.
Both the Merivales had disappeared. I had an uncanny feeling that they were watching from behind some window curtain, but I had no real reason for this. The victrola had ceased its music—doubtless Katy had turned it off.
“It’s about that last call you made on your uncle,” Keeley proceeded, and I could see he was watching her closely, though he seemed not to do so. “It was the last time you saw him alive, was it not? That Tuesday afternoon?”
“Yes,” said Alma, in a quiet, steady voice. “Yes, that was the last time.”
“What did you go there for?”