She shook her head. “But I do. I’m going to confront him. I’m going to accuse him of having inspired the work of that mob last night.” She broke off, then resumed in another voice: “My poor father hiding at Blue Mud Spring, like a criminal, both of us driven from home, dreading to go back to that ruined house! Don’t you understand how I feel?” She looked at him, and he noted the tragic, hunted expression in her eyes. “I feel, Mr. Sangerly, that something must come of this visit. I can’t tell you just why, but I have a premonition that you are going to be indebted to—to Billy Gee.”
Lex gazed soberly at her for some seconds. “Very well, we’ll go,” he said at last; “and I promised you I’d not have an officer at my elbow, didn’t I?”
A little later, accompanied by the elder Sangerly, Lex and Dot set out for the Quintell bungalow, the hotel porter leading the way. The spacious windows were still ablaze, the phonograph still executing its operatic serenade. Harrison, Quintell’s man Friday, opened the door for them, and ushered them into the large living room, furnished with a magnificence so wholly unexpected in this desert as to bewilder visitors.
Quintell entered shortly from the library where he sat reading. He was dressed in a rich lounging robe and smoked a long calabash pipe. He greeted them with his most winning smile and, seating himself, let his eyes rest on Dot. As the preliminary talk proceeded, he kept glancing at her frequently, his look one of undisguised approval and admiration.
“I am deeply interested in the novel I hear you’re writing, Miss Huntington,” he said. “I am informed you’ve paid me the honor of using me as a character in the book. Mr. Sangerly has perhaps told you that I’ll purchase five hundred copies.”
“Rest assured the character will be true to life, at any rate,” replied Dot simply.
“Ah—yes, doubtless!” smiled Quintell, and went on: “I regret very much to hear that you suffered at the hands of that mob, last night, Miss Huntington. Personally, I’m opposed to violence of that sort. It would seem to me that in this case where your father has been found to be on intimate terms with Billy Gee, instead of venting its spite by such destructive methods, the populace should insist——”
Dot flushed with anger at the palpable deceit in the man’s demeanor. “Pardon me, Mr. Quintell,” she broke in, “but I understand from a reliable source that you were instrumental in this violence which you now pretend to deprecate. I came here this evening to find out if you are man enough to show your hand.” Her eyes were on him fixedly, fiery.
He calmly removed his calabash from his mouth. “My dear young lady,” he replied in measured tones, “it strikes me that you might have visited me at my office, instead of disturbing the peace of my home in this manner. However, allow me to tell you that, having nothing to gain and not harboring any ill feeling against your father, I certainly would not urge the action taken by that mob. Perhaps you’ll now tell me who your reliable source of information was?”
The girl was silent, studying him wrathfully.