“And you ought to be with him,” with equal vehemence. “Why are you hanging around this house?”
“Isn’t that my business?” Armstrong’s sallow cheeks had turned a deep red, but otherwise he displayed no anger. His voice had not lost its teasing quality, which to many people was an annoying characteristic.
“It may be the coroner’s business if you are not careful,” exploded Hollister, losing his little store of patience, which had been sorely tried that morning. “What put it into your head not to appear at the inquest yesterday afternoon?”
“My dear Hollister,” Armstrong smiled tolerantly, “I explained in my note to Coroner Penfield, which I understand he did me the honor to read at the inquest, that not having been in the house at the hour John Meredith died, my testimony would add nothing to the investigation.”
His voice carried to the farther end of the library and David Curtis listened attentively as he skillfully avoided the furniture in his slow progress toward the two men. Absorbed in watching each other, neither man heard his approach. Curtis paused almost at Hollister’s back and gently struck his cane against the side of a mahogany card table. Armstrong swept a startled glance behind him and then resumed his nonchalant pose, while Hollister stepped to one side and laid his hand on a chair back.
“Hello, Curtis!” Hollister pushed the chair he had grasped toward the blind surgeon. “Sit down and be comfortable. Here comes Herman with the cocktails.”
“Thanks, but I won’t have any,” Curtis said, as the butler stopped before him, silver tray in hand. “Cocktails and brain work don’t go together successfully.”
“And what does your brain work comprise?” asked Armstrong, with a snicker of amusement as he took one of the frosted glasses. He drained his before Herman had time to serve the lawyer. “If you don’t wish the one Doctor Curtis scorned, I’ll take it, Hollister.” He drank the second cocktail more leisurely, then turned to Curtis. “You haven’t answered my question, doctor.”
“Ever hear of the fourth dimension, Armstrong?” Curtis smiled, as he addressed the young stockbroker; it deepened at the latter’s sulky nod. “Well, a problem of that kind provides very good mental relaxation—”
“For a blind man,” interjected Armstrong, contemptuously.