No, he wasn’t acting. He was genuinely mad. “Are you—are you—” his voice fairly shook, “are you accusing me of putting that libelous paragraph on to that story? Why how could I, and why should I?”
“Well, the hook is right there, and you might have done it.” Joan wasn’t going to give up without a struggle. “We—Chub and I—figured it all out—” she might as well go on, “that you were a spy from the Star, to get Mr. Hutton and the paper in bad.”
Dummy’s mouth dropped completely open, showing two gold teeth. “You thought that! And may I ask whether you and that red-headed imp have broadcast your insinuations?” he drawled.
“Oh, no!” began Joan, and then stopped. Chub had told the office force that afternoon, when Gertie was laughing about Dummy. “Why—” she faltered.
“So-o!” Dummy glared indignantly. “And do you know, young woman, that I could have you put in jail for that?”
Joan turned scarlet. Then she clutched at straws. “But,” she sputtered, “you did act spooky. And why did you act like a Dum—like a deaf person?” Oh, my goodness, he had often heard them all call him Dummy. Oh, how horrid they had been!
“Go on and say it. Call me Dummy,” said the man, without a smile. “I’m used to it now.”
He paused and seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
“Well,” she began, “we saw you with Tebbets of the Star at the picnic. It did look suspicious—because he’s such an awful man, and we thought he had you under his thumb—because, of course, you wouldn’t do such a thing unless you had to—” she hardly knew what she was saying.
“And what else?” he asked.