“Let me know what she decides about Sunday,” called Eleanor, as Thornton, for the second time, hurried out of the room.
“You are looking tired, Miss Thornton,” said Douglas, glancing at her attentively.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Cynthia was miserable, and I sat up with her until five o’clock this morning.”
“No wonder you are worn out.” Douglas looked his concern. “I really think a motor ride would do you lots of good. Do keep your promise and come for a spin.”
Eleanor glanced doubtfully down at her pretty house gown. “If you don’t mind waiting while I change——”
“Why, certainly.”
“I won’t be long”—and Eleanor disappeared.
Douglas did not resume his seat; but instead paced the room with long, nervous strides. Eleanor was not the only one who had passed a sleepless night. He had sat up and wracked his brain trying to find the key to the solution of the mystery surrounding the Senator’s death. Annette must be made to tell what she knew. Perhaps Brett’s authority as an officer of the law might intimidate her. It was worth trying. Walking down to the folding doors, which led from the drawing-room to the dining room, he opened them and found Joshua busy polishing the mahogany table.
“Is there a branch telephone in the house?” he asked, “besides the one in the library? Mrs. Winthrop is in there and I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Suttenly, suh; dar’s one right in de pantry, suh,” and Joshua, dropping his work, piloted him to the instrument.