Judith leaned back in her chair and gradually her tense muscles relaxed.
“I have no clew,” she replied. “But—tell me, when you got that glass of water for me, did you glance at all into our bedroom?”
Richards pressed down the tobacco in his pipe and hunted through his pockets for a match.
“Did I look into our bedroom?” he asked. “I may have looked, but I can’t swear to it.”
CHAPTER XIV
SUSPICION
A door slammed and hasty footsteps sounded down the corridor, then a figure blocked the doorway to the sitting room of Latimer’s bachelor apartment.
“She’s gone!”
Latimer dropped the Sunday newspaper he had been reading and stared at John Hale. For a moment he had not recognized his friend’s voice—it was hoarse, discordant.
“She—who?” he exclaimed, springing to his feet.
“Polly.” John Hale swayed slightly, then lunged for the nearest chair and dropped into it. Latimer wasted no words, but poured out a liberal pony of brandy and placed it in his hand.