Cantor’s hand was on his arm, and Hildegarde’s eyes were sharp enough to see that his fingers crushed in savagely.
“Be still! Sit down!” he said, and the man obeyed sullenly.
“Go to bed,” von Essen said, savagely.
Hildegarde was thinking, piecing together the evidence of her eyes and ears.... Cantor.... What had he to do with this? He seemed rightly to be a part of it.... His manner when he spoke to Philip!
“Will you go to bed?” her father said, stepping toward her.
“I’m going,” she said, unsteadily, almost hysterically. Indeed, she laughed unnaturally. “But before I go—I thought you’d like to know about—another great German victory.... They’ve burned part of the Waite Motor Company—and murdered a man.... Murdered a man!...” She turned and ran up the stairs to her room.
When she was out of hearing von Essen turned savagely to his chauffeur, “What made you come here like this, you fool?”
“Where else would he go?” Cantor asked, sharply. “No harm’s done.”
“What’s this about—a murder?” von Essen asked, shakily.
“Their damn watchman jumped me—one of them,” said Philip. “Before I could let him have it he landed on me—twice.... But I got him and got him good.... For God’s sake aren’t you ever going to do anything to stop this pain in my hands?”