I again had no response and we fared on, I trying to keep up, hungry for his next word and fearful of what it might be. It came in a voice that had an artificial note of carelessness.
“What’s become of that man you told me about, that man we saw in the hall one night when you first went up there?”
“I don’t know what’s become of him.”
“You haven’t seen him lately?”
“No, not for some weeks.”
There was another pause. I wasn’t going to help him. It was part of my torment to wait and see how he was going to get the information he wanted, to see Roger, uneasy and jealous, feeling round a subject, not daring to be frank. When he could wait no longer his voice showed a leashed and guarded impatience.
“You led me to believe he was a great friend of hers.”
“He was.”
“Was? Is he so no longer?”
“No, they’ve had a quarrel of some sort.”