“No”; growled Barry, looking like a wild beast at bay. “I haven’t.”
“Do you ever use one?”
“No.”
Louis looked up, with such a surprised air, that Prescott said, “Yes, you do. Whose?”
“Nobody’s,” repeated Barry, now furiously incensed. “You quit these absurd questions! I won’t answer any more!”
“Why, Phil,” said Phyllis, gently, “don’t get so angry. Mr Prescott is only trying to find out about this letter.”
“And an important letter it is,” cried Millicent.
She was greatly excited, her eyes flashed and her lips trembled, as she fairly glared at Barry.
“So you’re the criminal,” she went on, “you killed my brother! Some need to ask why! Just because you’re in love with Phyllis and you found Robert was cutting you out! A fine way to remedy matter—to kill your rival!”
“Oh, Millicent,” Phyllis begged, “don’t jump at conclusions like that! Even if Phil did write that letter it doesn’t prove he killed Mr Gleason.”