"Come in, Mr. Slosson," said Windsor genially, yet with a certain repressed eagerness in his voice which caused Armstrong to wonder. "You know Mr. Armstrong, I think; this is Mr. Robert Dorns. We came over here in order that you and Mr. Williams might answer a few questions in regard to these affidavits, if you don't mind. Nothing compulsory at all. Mr. Armstrong merely wishes to satisfy himself on certain points. You look as though you'd had a pretty bad accident."
"I did." Slosson entered, dropped his hat on a chair, and himself into another. "I was robbed and dropped off my train—had a devil of a time. Well, what can I do for you?"
He flung a glance at Dorns which was half defiant, half alarmed. The name must have startled him. Dorns, being the man he was, took instant advantage of what he read in Slosson's glance, and leaned forward.
"I'd like to know," he said, hard of eye and voice, "just what took place at Armstrong's house when you called there—"
"Not so fast, Mr. Dorns," cut in Windsor coolly. "Mr. Armstrong is doing the questioning here, if you please, and so am I. Do you care to answer that question Mr. Slosson? This is a conversation among ourselves, understand, and not a matter of record."
"It's none of his business, then," shot out Slosson defiantly.
Windsor smiled in his cordial manner, and glanced at Armstrong.
"Do you care to ask the question now, or defer it?" he inquired.
Armstrong suddenly perceived something tense in the manner of Windsor, and this query startled him into swift thought.
"I'd like to see Slosson in your presence, or in private," he rejoined calmly. Under his look, Slosson's bold gaze wavered. "I'll defer my questions, if you wish."