The Doctor had not moved his look from Investigator Adams, who now betrayed every sign of uneasiness. Once or twice that wonderfully flexible right hand stole toward the region of his hip pocket, but each time it came stealthily back again, to pluck uncertainly at his prognathous chin.
"McCaleb, do your duty!" said he.
"When I get good and ready," McCaleb returned, without looking at him; he was still waiting on Doctor Westbrook. The latter now spoke.
"Oh, I have no statement to make; why should I? The whole wretched business has been such a nightmare that I haven't the heart to attempt a defence."
Once more he turned to Adams.
"So this is your revenge, is it?" he asked. "This is your way of getting back at me for the old Civic Reform League; it's a pity I didn't stay with it until I had smoked you out, you scoundrel."
He looked again to McCaleb. "Well, I suppose I must go with you; I am ready."
But there came an interruption from an unlooked-for source. Before any one was aware of it, Charlotte had arisen and was between the Doctor and the other two men. She faced them magnificently—like a tigress at bay.
"You touch him if you dare!"
The words were uttered with ominous quietness. If a look could convey any physical effect, McCaleb and Adams would have been seared and scorched and blasted by the lightning-like fire of wrath that blazed about them. All of her moving personality showed plainly in that look, dominating the situation as if the other actors therein were no more than wooden marionettes. McCaleb recoiled; Adams cowered behind him.