“Well, I’m glad you can’t suspect me,” said Nina Lindale with a faint smile. “I never thought a thunderstorm would clear my character. I suppose I ought to be thankful.”
“Ditto!” added Cynthia, lightly.
Westenhanger returned to the attack in a sardonic tone.
“One thing I noticed, Freddie: You didn’t go the length of denying that you stole the Talisman yourself. An oversight, probably. Oh, don’t trouble to do it now; it would look rather too much like an after-thought. Besides, no detective would take your word for it—with that look on your face.”
“ ‘Detected Guilt, or The Sinner Unmasked’—what?” jeered Douglas. “Freddie, you’d make the fortune of a problem painter if he got hold of you just now. ‘Did He Do It?’ That would be the title. Picture of the wily fellow who takes charge of the whole investigation and then leads all the sleuths on the wrong scent while he makes off with the swag, eh? Priceless!”
The three men had turned the tables on Freddie, and he had the wit to recognise the fact. The whole effect of his efforts had been nullified by this last touch of ridicule, which made a special appeal after the earlier tension. He nodded sulkily, as though admitting an error; but he made no direct reply to Westenhanger.
Nina Lindale gave the signal for the company to break up.
“I’m off to bed,” she announced, unsuccessfully trying to conceal a yawn. “I got very little sleep last night, and if I stay up any longer I shall doze off in my chair.”
“That’s a sound idea, Miss Lindale,” said Wraxall. “I begin to remember that I lost some sleep too, last night.”
Morchard and Mrs. Caistor Scorton joined the group which was moving toward the door. Cynthia linked her arm in Nina’s and was turning away when Douglas called her back and spoke to her in a low voice.