"A little whiskey, Jarvis," he said softly. "I'm exhausted, Tom. Leave me alone."
Wilton waved his hand, indicative of the futility of further argument.
"Judge," announced Hastings, at the door, "I'll ask you a question I put to Mr. Sloane. Did you receive, or see, a letter in an oblong, grey envelope in yesterday afternoon's mail?"
"No. I never get any mail while I'm here for a week-end."
Wilton followed the detective into the hall.
"I hope you're not going to give up the case, Hastings. You won't pay any attention to Arthur's unreasonable attitude, will you?"
"I don't know," Hastings said, still indignant. "I made my bargain with his daughter. I'll see her."
"If you can't manage any other way, I—or she—will get any information you want from Arthur."
"I hope to keep on. It's a big thing, I think." The old man was again intent on solving the problem. "Tell me, judge; do you think Berne Webster's guilty?" Seeing the judge's hesitance, he supplemented: "I mean, did you notice anything last night, in his conduct, that would indicate guilt—or fear?"