Gerald Burton spoke rather crossly. Both his father and sister felt surprised at his tone. He was generally very equable and good-tempered. But where any sort of art was concerned he naturally claimed to speak with authority.
"Have you any theory, Gerald"—the Senator hesitated, "to account for the extraordinary discrepancy between the Poulains' story and what Mrs. Dampier asserts to be the case?"
"Yes, father, I have a quite definite theory. I believe the Poulains are lying."
The young man leant forward across the round table. He spoke very earnestly, but even as he spoke he lowered his voice, as if fearing to be overheard.
Senator Burton glanced at the door. "You can speak quite openly," he said rather sharply. "You forget that there is the door of our appartement as well as a passage between this room and the staircase."
"No, father, I don't forget that. But it would be quite easy for anyone to creep in. The Poulains have pass keys everywhere."
"My dear boy, they don't understand English!"
"Jules does, father. He knows far more English than he admits. At any rate he understands everything one says to him."
Daisy broke in with a touch of impatience. "But with what object could the Poulains tell such a stupid and cruel untruth, one, too, which is sure to be found out very soon? If this Mr. Dampier did arrive here last night, well then, he did—if he didn't, he didn't!"
"Yes, that's true," Gerald turned to his sister. "And though I've given a good deal of thought to it during the last few hours—I can't form any theory yet as to why the Poulains are lying. I only feel quite sure that they are."