As he did so he was aware of a slight, curious expression in the face he had disliked. The eyelids twitched, the upper lip drew down tight over the teeth, the nostrils widened. It was a sudden contraction and then flexing of the muscles, an involuntary grimace, gone almost as soon as it had come. With murmured thanks, Mayer stretched his hand and took the wine.
It had all come back with the offered glass. A glance shot round the little group showed him that no one had noticed; they were cutting and handing about the cake. He refused a piece and found his stiffened lips could smile, but he was afraid of his voice, and sipped slowly, forcing the wine down the contracted passage of his throat. Then he stole a look at Mark, clumsily steering a way between the chairs to Aunt Ellen who wanted some grapes. The fellow hadn't guessed—hadn't the faintest suspicion—it was incredible that he should have. It was all right but—he raised his hand to his cravat, felt of it, then slipped a finger inside his collar and drew it away from his neck.
Through a blurred whirl of thought he could hear Aunt Ellen's voice.
"I've wanted to see you for a long time, Mr. Burrage. You come from that part of the country and I thought you'd know."
Then Mark's voice:
"Know what, Mrs. Tisdale?"
"About that Knapp man's story. Didn't you tell us your ranch was up near the tules where those bandits buried the gold?"
Lorry explained.
"Aunt Ellen's been so excited about that story, she couldn't talk of anything else."
"And why not?" said Aunt Ellen. "It's a very unusual performance. Two sets of thieves, one stealing the money and burying it and another coming along and finding it."