Inspector Armadale threw a glance at his superior which suggested that Sir Clinton's intervention had been a mere waste of time.
“When'll your lawyer be here?” he demanded brusquely.
Stanley Fleetwood paused to consider before replying.
“I'll wire him to-day; but most likely the wire will lie in his office until Monday. I expect Monday afternoon will be the earliest time he could get here, and perhaps he won't turn up even then.”
Inspector Armadale looked from husband to wife and back again.
“And you'll say nothing till he comes?”
Stanley Fleetwood did not think it worth the trouble to answer.
“I think you'll regret this, sir. But it's your own doing. I needn't trouble you further just now.”
Armadale stalked out of the room, suspicion and indignation written large in every line of his figure. Sir Clinton followed. As Wendover closed the retreat, he saw Cressida step swiftly across to her husband's side and slip to her knees at the edge of the bed.