Now he was sure that she had been searching for the gladstone bag. That, evidently, was the bone of contention. Calendar had sent his daughter for it, Mrs. Hallam her son; Dorothy had been successful ... But, on the other hand, Calendar and Mrs. Hallam were unquestionably allies. Why, then—?
"Where is it, Mr. Kirkwood?"
"Madam, have you the right to know?"
Through another lengthening pause, while they faced each other, he marked again the curious contraction of her under lip.
"I have the right," she declared steadily. "Where is it?"
"How can I be sure?"
"Then you don't know—!"
"Indeed," he interrupted, "I would be glad to feel that I ought to tell you what I know."
"What you know!"
The exclamation, low-spoken, more an echo of her thoughts than intended for Kirkwood, was accompanied by a little shake of the woman's head, mute evidence to the fact that she was bewildered by his finesse. And this delighted the young man beyond measure, making him feel himself master of a difficult situation. Mysteries had been woven before his eyes so persistently, of late, that it was a real pleasure to be able to do a little mystifying on his own account. By adopting this reticent and non-committal attitude, he was forcing the hand of a woman old enough to be his mother and most evidently a past-mistress in the art of misleading. All of which seemed very fascinating to the amateur in adventure.