The knowledge made me suddenly speak. I wanted to see, I had to see, if that careful control would hold under a direct question about her lover.
"How about Barker? How did he act when you saw him that afternoon?"
She shifted slightly to see me better.
"Oh, perfectly naturally. There was nothing in the least unusual about him."
"Barker was a man of iron," said the chief. "His mental disturbances didn't show on the outside. Besides," he gave a wave of his hand toward her—"this young lady knew him only slightly." He turned quickly to her, "I'm right, am I not?"
"Perfectly," she fixed her eyes on him and kept them there, black and unfathomable. "My acquaintance with him was simply that of an agent with a customer."
For a moment I couldn't look at her; I got up and going to the window fumbled with the blind. The man she'd tried to run away with—and telling her lie with that smooth steadiness! It was only love could give such nerve. Behind me I heard the old man's voice:
"A horrible affair. It was fortunate for you you escaped the sight of it."
"Ah—" it was a sound of shuddering protest—"that would have been too much. I knew nothing of it till I saw the papers the next morning. It made me ill—I was at home for several days."
"Well," said he, "I'm in hopes we're going to straighten things out before long."