Iris looked at Downing so earnestly that he quailed before her glance.
"I don't believe your story at all!" she said; "you are making it up, because you hate Win, and it's absurd on the face of it! If Win came up here on Sunday at noon, he would come in for dinner, of course——"
"Not if he came with sinister intent," interrupted Downing.
"I don't believe it! You have made up that whole yarn, and let me tell you, you didn't do it very cleverly, either! Why didn't you say you saw him in the afternoon? It would have been more convincing, and quite as true!"
"I wasn't near here myself in the afternoon. But I did pass here just before twelve, and I did see him." Downing's voice had a ring of truth. "However, after this, I shall say I did not see him. I know you prefer that I should."
He looked straight at Iris, and ignored Mr. Bowen's pained exclamation.
"Say whatever you like, it doesn't matter to me," the girl returned haughtily.
"It does matter to you—and to Win. So, I shall say I was mistaken and that I did not see Winston Bannard on Sunday. I shall expect you, Mr. Bowen, and you ladies, not to report this conversation to the police. If you are questioned concerning it, you must say what you choose. But you will not be questioned, unless someone now present tattles."
Later that day, Iris had another caller. He sent up no card, but Agnes told her that a Mr. Pollock wished to see her.