“It’s that little bit more that is so important,” Jervaise commented sardonically.
After all, a legal training does count for something. I was not his match in this kind of give and take, and I decided to throw down my hand. I was not incriminating Banks. I knew nothing about his movements of the night, and in that morning interview with old Jervaise the most important admission of all must almost certainly have been made.
“Well, you have a right to know that,” I began, “although I don’t think you and your family had any right whatever to be so damnably rude to me at lunch, on the mere spiteful accusations of Miss Tattersall.”
“Miss Tattersall?” Jervaise put in, with a very decent imitation of surprise.
“Oh! I’m going to be perfectly honest with you,” I returned. “Can’t you drop that burlesque of the legal manner and be equally honest with me?”
“Simply dunno what you’re driving at,” he said.
“Very well, then, answer the question you shirked just now,” I retorted. “Why did your mother rush to tell you that I hadn’t slept in the house last night?”
“The mater’s in an awful state of nerves,” he said.
Incidentally I had to admit to myself that I had not made sufficient allowance for that indubitable fact, but I chose to disregard it at the moment. I wanted to be sure of the treachery of Grace Tattersall.
“You asked me not to beat about the bush, a minute ago,” I said, “and now you’re trying to dodge all my questions with the most futile and palpable evasions.”