"But you went to that room yourself?"
The Chief's hand made a quick wave at her for silence. Miss Maitland didn't seem to notice it; she turned to Mrs. Janney and answered:
"Yes, several times, Mrs. Janney. I'd had to pay the rent in advance and I had a key, so when I was in town and had time to spare I went there. It was quiet and convenient—I used to write letters and read."
"Would you mind telling me why Mr. Chapman Price went there too?"
It was the Chief's voice this time, quite low and oh, so deep and mild. Miss Maitland's attitude didn't change, but again her hands clasped and stayed clasped. She gave a little, provocative smile, almost as if she was trying to flirt with him, and said:
"You seem to know a great deal about me and my affairs, Mr. Whitney."
He returned the smile, good-humored, as if he liked the way she'd come back at him.
"A little, Miss Maitland. You see we have had to, unpleasant but still necessary—you have no objection to answering?"
"Oh, not the least, only—" her glance swept over the solemn faces of the others—"I'm afraid Mrs. Janney may not approve of what I've done. I met Mr. Price there to tell him about Bébita; I was sorry for him, for the position he was in. He was fond of her and he heard almost nothing about her. So I arranged to give him news of her, tell him how she was, and little funny things she had said. It wasn't the right thing to do but I—I—pitied him so."
A sound—I can't call it anything but a grunt—came from Mrs. Janney. Mr. George, still pulling at his mustache, shifted uneasily in his chair. Beside me I could hear that stifled breathing of Mrs. Price, and her hand, all covered with rings, stole forward and clasped like a bird's claw on the chair in front. I don't think Miss Maitland noticed any of this. Her eyes were on the Chief, fixed and sort of defiant. Her face had lost its calm look; there were pink spots on her cheek bones.