I was astounded to see that Gainsay had gone rather white and his jaw was set.
“Yes,” he said very quietly.
“What do you mean, ‘unexpected development’?”
“I—am not at liberty to state.”
Something in Gainsay’s manner seemed to irritate the coroner.
“Not at liberty to state! Well, see here, young man, you’d better be at liberty to state and that mighty fast! You’ve admitted to skulking around St. Ann’s, at a time of night when respectable people are in bed and leaving cigarette cases——”
“Now, now,” remonstrated Jim Gainsay gently. “I object to the word ‘skulking.’ ”
“You object! You object!” The coroner removed his eyeglasses for freer gesticulation and somehow they detached themselves from the ribbon and flew out of his hand. He paused in slight discomposure and Lance O’Leary stooped, returned the eyeglasses, and as he did so, leaned over and said something in a low voice.
“H’m-m. R’r’h’m!” remarked the coroner weightily, fixing a profound gaze upon Jim Gainsay, as if his blackest doubts of this young man had been justified.
“That is all, Mr. Gainsay. For the present.” He surveyed Gainsay unpleasantly and added, as if he liked the sound of the words: “For the present.”