“What’s the trouble, Connie? Is Shep slipping in on us?” asked Mrs. Burton.
“Hardly,” replied Constance, plainly disturbed by the interruption. “Oh, Annie, don’t let anyone in you don’t know.”
They waited in silence for the opening of the door.
In a moment Franklin Mills’s voice was heard asking if Mr. and Mrs. Mills were at home.
“Um!” With a shrug Constance rose hastily and met Mills at the door.
“I’d like to see you just a moment, Connie,” he said without prelude.
Whitford and Bruce had risen. Mills bowed to them and to Mrs. Burton, but behind the mask of courtesy his face wore a haggard look.
Constance followed him into the hall where their voices—Mills’s low and tense—could be heard in hurried conference. In a moment Constance went to the hall telephone and called a succession of numbers.
“The club—Freddy Thomas’s rooms——” muttered Whitford. “Wonder what’s up——”
They exchanged questioning glances. Whitford idly shuffled and reshuffled the cards.