“Well, by Jove!”
The simultaneous exclamations brought a smile to Armstrong’s lips, but his eyes remained hard and watchful.
“Have you seen Lucille?” he asked.
“No, we are on our way to Ten Acres now,” Mrs. Hull spoke as a person in a daze, and her husband, immersed in a large silk handkerchief, blew his nose with vigor. “To think of John leaving such a sum of money to Lucille! I knew he was fond of the child, but”—she drew a long breath—“it passes belief!”
“Here is your car,” exclaimed Armstrong, as a taxi puffed its way to the door and stopped. “Let me help you in, Mrs. Hull,” and taking her firmly by the elbow he piloted her down the few steps leading to the driveway which cut across the sidewalk and led to their front door and the garage in the rear of the house. Colonel Hull followed them more slowly. He did not speak to Armstrong until the latter had tucked a light lap robe over his wife’s expensive gown.
“Will you come out with us, Gerald?” he asked, one foot on the running board. “I am sure Lucille and Anne will be glad to see you.”
Armstrong shook his head. “I haven’t time to make it, Colonel,” he answered. “Thanks, just the same.” He partly closed the door. “About Anne,” his voice changed, “there’s a chap out at Ten Acres—David Curtis. Ever met him?”
Colonel Hull dropped heavily on the seat by his wife’s side.
“David Curtis,” he repeated. “N-on, I can’t say that I have. A banker?”
“A surgeon—and blind at that.” Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. “Anne is to marry him. Good night,” and he slammed the door shut.