And then, with a shade more of haughtiness than he had as yet used in addressing this man, who was fast becoming his tormentor, he asks:
“Mr. Grip, is this so very necessary?”
Slowly the detective leans forward; slowly he raises a warning forefinger.
“My dear sir,” he says impressively, “if you want to catch a thief will you say, ‘come here, my dear, and be arrested?’ No, sir; you catch her unawares. Tell that fine lady that she is to be interviewed by a detective, and, presto! she shuts her secrets up behind a mantle of smiles or sneers. Call her in, and lead her to talk; I’ll employ my eyes and ears. Use the cues set down here—” he extends to Alan a folded slip of paper. “Put her at her ease, and leave the rest to me. Now then—”
Again he rises, and this time he begins a slow survey of the room.
Alan, thoroughly alarmed for Leslie’s safety as well as for his own, begins to wonder how this strange interview is to end. Even if he should summon Leslie, would she come at his call? Yes; he feels sure that she would, remembering her message of the morning. And what may she not say? If he could give her a word, a sign of warning. But those eyes, that are even now bestowing questioning glances upon him, are too keen. He would only bungle. He will try again.
“Mr. Grip,” he says, “my sister-in-law is already ill from excitement. If we could spare her this interview—”
“Sir!” Augustus Grip wheels suddenly, and looks straight into his face while he continues sharply: “My good sir; for your own sake, don’t! You should have no reason for keeping a witness in the background.”
The hot angry Warburton blood surges up to Alan’s brow. Realizing his danger more than ever, and recognizing in the man before him a force that might, perhaps, be bought or baffled, but never evaded, he lets his eyes rest for a moment, in haughty defiance, upon the detective’s face. And then he turns and walks to the door.
“Where do you purpose to conceal yourself?” he asks coldly, as he lays his hand upon the bell-rope.