But Reliance had entered and now spoke for herself.
“Good afternoon, Foster,” she said. “You’ll see me for a minute or two, won’t you? I hope you will.”
Foster Townsend was sitting in the leather chair. When the housekeeper burst into the room he looked up with a frown. As he recognized his caller he slowly leaned back. It was the first time she had entered that house since Esther left it.
“Humph!” he observed. “It’s you, eh?” He was silent for an instant, then he turned to the perturbed Mrs. Gifford.
“All right, Nabby,” he said. “You can go.”
Nabby was expectantly awaiting orders to show the intruder to the door. Her cheeks, puffed with righteous indignation, collapsed like punctured balloons. “Wh—what?” she gasped.
“You can go. Shut the kitchen door after you. Go along.”
Nabby went, under protest, muttering all the way to the kitchen. Townsend thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets. His face, as he raised it to meet Reliance’s look, was expressionless.
“Well?” he asked. Then, with a grim smile he added: “Come for a look at the remains, have you? Are you satisfied? Do I look natural?”
She took a step toward him and put out her hand impulsively. “Don’t, Foster,” she protested. “Don’t talk that way.”