“And was it also at your suggestion that the newspapers omitted my son’s name in reporting a certain wholesale arrest made by the police night before last?”
“It was.”
The judge smiled and shook his head.
“You seem to be all-powerful, Mr. Brant, but I dislike mysteries—even beneficent mysteries. In this matter, however, I am your debtor; let me know when I may square the account.” And before Brant could add another word in explanation or extenuation he was gone.
CHAPTER XI
AND THE SHAFT TO THE MARK
Not until he had passed the judge’s questions and his own answers twice or thrice in mental review did Brant realize how completely he had succeeded in raising doubts as to his own obviousness where he fain would have allayed them. Then he grew angry, at his own inaptness in particular, and at an unsympathetic world in general. In its turn the fit of wrath was supplanted by a fever of impatience, and this glowed fitfully through the interminable afternoon which separated him from a possible visit to Hollywood.
Having done a good deed, he had a very human hunger for appreciation—appreciation untinctured by suspicion or innuendo, and Dorothy, at least, would not withhold it. So he believed, and, when evening came, lost no time in presenting himself at the door of the comfortable mansion in Altamont Terrace.
He was shown into the double drawing-room, and it was untenanted—a fact remarkable enough to make him wonder. He had come to know the family habit well, and after dinner, when it was too cool to sit on the veranda, at least four of the five would be found in the living rooms. Was he too early? He looked at his watch. No; it was a full hour a-past the Langford dinner time. In the midst of his wonderings the door opened to admit, not Dorothy or Isabel, but Mrs. Langford.
“You must excuse me if I have kept you waiting,” said the lady in the tone which turns the apology into a chilly conventionalism. “I was not expecting any one so early. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Brant?”
Brant doubted his ears, and glanced around involuntarily as one who has stumbled into the wrong house.