But a distinct shock awaited him when he entered the club that evening, in the attitude of his erstwhile ally, Vernon Halstead. He had difficulty in locating the young man at first; a survey of his usual haunts, the bar and card-rooms, failed to disclose him, but Wiley ran him to earth finally in the library, deep in a bulky and serious-looking volume.
"Improving your mind?" he sneered.
Vernon raised his eyes serenely.
"Never too late to learn, is it?" he observed. "I've found out a lot in the last day or two."
"You mean—?" Wiley dropped into a chair beside him. "Any new developments? Did she go out alone to-day?"
"My cousin?" Vernon closed his book, and rose. "I haven't the least idea, I assure you. I ran out to Mineola myself, with an aviator chap I know."
He had paused, looking down at his interrogator, and at the expression in his eyes the latter half rose also, then sank back.
"And just what am I to infer?" Wiley spoke through set teeth.
"Anything you like, my dear fellow. Help yourself."
"Ah! You're going to renege, are you? You're prepared to take the consequences?"