"That will be enough," Rich said quickly.
His expression changed. It was now very grave. Rich's eyes, now grown sharp and shrewd and suspicious, moved round the group. He ran a hand across his bald skull, down to die roll of gray-streaked hair over his collar. He was human again, and very much troubled.
"Gentlemen," he said, "gentlemen, I think I've been in danger of making a grave mistake. I should not have consented to do this until I — investigated. Has Mrs. Fane any association with that particular song?"
"Not that I know of," replied Arthur, with dreary surprise. "Unless, of course, Captain Sharpless can tell us?"
Rich glanced at Sharpless's face. "I think we had better end this." "And I think not," said Arthur Fane. "You insist on that, sir?"
"You, sir, promised to show us something. You have not yet done so."
"As you like," breathed Rich. "Sit down again, then." He waited until the three spectators had done so. "Victoria Fane, walk up to the table in the middle of the room. On that table you will find a loaded revolver. Pick it up."
In the group, it was as though nobody dared to draw his breath. Ann Browning, who had not uttered a word, was bending forward with her knees crossed and her slim hands gripped round them. Her gold hair caught the light. The color in her cheeks, the brilliant shining of her pale blue eyes, made a contrast to the shabby, tear-streaked face of the automaton.
"Walk forward until I tell you to.. there! Stop! Now turn to your right a little more — facing your husband."
Arthur Fane moistened his lips.