CHAPTER XXIV
The sombre silence in which the constable departed endured for some time. Mr. Howard folded his arms and stared at the cornice. Mrs. Witherby gleamed upon him, in a mocking triumph which he affected neither to see nor to comprehend the reason for.
“Well, Mr. Howard,” she said presently, being no longer able to contain herself, “the plot thickens.”
Howard coughed, artificially it must be admitted.
“Er—the fellow’s statement—er ...” he sought to waive it with a waving hand.
“I am very sorry that I brought Corinne. But how could I imagine such a thing of Mrs. Mearely?”
At this there was another wail from Corinne, who was in the dark concerning the cause of this strained situation. To her young mind, the constable’s tale brought no black suspicions.
“Oh, mamma! Are you going to invent something more?”
“Corinne, be silent. You shall come home with me at once.”
Howard saw that something definite must be done immediately. After all, he said to himself, he was the deceased husband’s kinsman and, in an emergency like this, his should be the voice of authority in Villa Rose. No master at Villa Rose—there was the whole trouble.