Reggy looked at him disgustedly.
"Will somebody kindly explain to me what this take-a-chair game is?" he demanded. "Everybody seems to be crazy on the subject of chairs; everybody wants me to sit down. I don't want to be disobliging; but, great Scott! a man can't sit down all his life!"
Rosalind, still on guard at the newel-post, was chewing her lips.
Polly's eyes were distended with apprehension.
"Well, never mind trying to make him talk now," said Mr. Witherbee soothingly. "Just leave it to Davidson."
"I'm going to leave it to the police," said that gentleman. "I've sent for them. We're going to have a few things explained before I get through. First, there's my nephew's murder."
"But you're not sure about that," Rosalind reminded him. "Perhaps he'll turn up all right."
"Perhaps." But Mr. Davidson's tone was pessimistic. "We'll know before long, at any rate. Then there's that boatman who's been hanging around here. I've got men out after him now."
Rosalind breathed softly. She was eagerly yet fearfully listening for some sound from up-stairs.
"What is he wanted for?" she asked.