"Yes; we're in it—only a little way so far. We've been rounding up every one that has, or has had, any dealings with the family and we've taken you in in the sweep."
"Me?" Price's voice showed an intense surprise. "What have I got to do with it?"
"Nothing, my dear boy, except that you were a member of the household, and as I said, we're clearing up every one in sight. It's only a formality, a tagging and disposing of all unnecessary elements. You went for a motor ride that night—a long ride. You wouldn't mind telling us where, would you? It's just for the purpose of eliminating you along with the rest of the dead wood."
The young man's gaze dropped from Whitney's face to his own hat lying on the table. He looked at it with an absent stare.
"A motor ride?" he murmured.
"Yes, from eight-thirty till nearly two."
"Um," Price appeared to be considering. "Let me see—what was the date, I don't remember?"
George assisted his memory:
"July the seventh—a moonlight night."
"Ah," he had it now, nodding his head several times in restored recollection. "Of course, I remember perfectly. There was a heavy rain early in the evening and then a full moon." He turned to the elder man. "I'm rather fond of ranging about at night, and couldn't quite place what especial ride you referred to. I took a long spin up the Island."