“I will let you speak to Miss Langdon; she’ll probably confide the whole matter to you,” added Calhoun-Cooper, rising, and Tom followed his example. “But remember, if I don’t get that bracelet back in two days with an adequate explanation, I’ll go to Miss Langdon myself, and if necessary—to the police.”
“That threat is not necessary,” exclaimed Tom, his anger rising. “And speaking of making criminal investigations, sir; hadn’t you better watch a member of your own family?”
Calhoun-Cooper recoiled, and before he could recover from the emotion that mastered him, Tom was out of the club and into his roadster. As the car shot away into the darkness, Tom laid his head wearily on the steering wheel.
“In God’s name,” he mumbled, “how can I question the girl I adore as to how a piece of jewelry came into her possession?”
CHAPTER XVII
OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN
Mrs. Fordyce awoke from her nap to discover Janet earnestly regarding her from the depths of a big tufted arm-chair.
“Bless me, Cutie!” she ejaculated. “Have I been asleep?”
“You certainly have,” admitted Janet laughing. It was not often her mother called her by the familiar, schoolgirl nickname. “And snoring, too.”
“Janet!”
“Well, just a little snore,” hastily, noting her mother’s offended expression. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, mumsie, dear, if I hadn’t thought Marjorie was here with you. I am sorry my entrance awoke you.”