A quick motion of her lifted brows, a curve of her lower lip—indubitably, a new significance of expression—stopped his outburst.
"By George!" he said, taken aback. "By George!" he repeated, this time in a coarse exultation. He thrust himself still closer to her, certain now of her meaning.
"What do you know?" He lowered his voice and asked again: "Mrs. Brace, what do you know?"
She moved back, farther from him. She was not to be rushed into—anything. She made him appreciate the difficulty of "getting next" to her. He no longer felt fear of her imposing on him—she had just exposed, for his benefit, how Hastings had played on his credulity! He felt grateful to her for that. His only anxiety now was that she might change her mind, might refuse him the assistance which that new and subtle expression had promised a moment ago.
"If I thought you'd use——" she began, broke off, and looked past his shoulder at the opposite wall, the pupils of her eyes sharp points of light, lips drawn to a line almost invisible.
Her evident prudence fired his eagerness.
"If I'd do what?" he asked. "If you thought I'd—what?"
"Let me think," she requested.
He changed his posture, with a great show of watching the sunset sky, and stole little glances at her smooth, untroubled face. He believed now that she could put him on the trail of the murderer. He confessed to himself, unreservedly, that Hastings had tricked him, held him up to ridicule—to the ridicule of a nation, for this crime held the interest of the entire country. But here was his chance for revenge! With this "smart" woman's help, he would outwit Hastings!
"If you'd use my ideas confidentially," she said at last, eying him as if she speculated on his honesty; "if I were sure that——"