Mrs. Hale rattled her coffee cups and looked over the top of her silver urn at Joe Richards; he had asked for a third cup of coffee and he drank it clear. Mrs. Hale was shocked. But the remonstrance on the tip of her tongue died unspoken as she studied his clear-cut profile and observed the dogged set to his determined jaw. She took silent note of his unusual pallor, the dark circles under his eyes, and his continued silence. Mrs. Hale felt resentful; she was of a talkative disposition and had welcomed an opportunity to discuss the mystery surrounding Austin Hale’s death with her handsome son-in-law, but instead of following her lead he had answered in monosyllables. A less persistent woman would have given up the attempt.
“Did you ask Judith if she saw a light in Austin’s bedroom?” she inquired, for at least the sixth time. “Your suite of rooms is directly under his, poor boy,” and she sought refuge behind her damp handkerchief. She emerged a moment later to add, “Austin must have gone to his room, for his overcoat and suit case were there when I went upstairs after that distressing scene in the library—dear me, was it only this morning?”
“It was.” Richards’ tone was grim and did not invite further remarks. For a moment there was silence.
“You haven’t answered my question, my dear boy,” prompted Mrs. Hale plaintively, “nor have you touched your breakfast!” in shocked surprise as Anna, the waitress, removed his plate.
“I—I cannot eat.” With an effort Richards suppressed a grimace at sight of the untasted eggs and bacon. “I have no appetite. Dear Mrs. Hale, do not distress yourself on my account.”
Mrs. Hale regarded him in suspicious silence; she was not quite certain what prompted his sudden change of manner. Was he poking fun at her? But as she met his unwavering gaze she dismissed the idea as unworthy, and returned valiantly to the task of eliciting information.
“What questions did you ask Judith?” she demanded.
“I have not questioned Judith.” Richards drew out his cigarette case. “May I smoke?” And hardly waiting for her permission, he added, “Judith, as you know, does not feel well and is breakfasting in her boudoir. I do not believe,”—Richards paused and his speech gained added deliberation—“I do not believe Judith can supply any information as to the events of last night, nor any clew to the unfortunate murder of her cousin. Her deafness——”
“I know,” broke in Mrs. Hale hastily—any allusion to Judith’s infirmity cut her mother love. “I cannot think why, when Austin reached home, he did not at once tell Judith that he was in the house—he knew she could not hear him enter. It is most surprising!” and Mrs. Hale shook a puzzled head.
Richards considered her thoughtfully. “Have you found out how and when Austin returned last night?” he asked.