“You have stated twice now that I sold Valve bonds,” Richards began. “It is up to you to prove it.”
“And I can”—wheeling around, John Hale seized the desk telephone and repeated a number. A second more and he called into the instrument:
“John Hale speaking, Frank. Come over to the house as quickly as you can. Polly—what about Polly?—I don’t catch that—tell me when you get here,” and he banged up the receiver, then turned to the others in the library. “It won’t take Latimer five minutes to reach here.”
“And why is his presence required?” questioned Richards. “It strikes me that this scene has been prolonged unnecessarily.”
“Possibly, from your viewpoint.” John Hale’s smile was not pleasant. “Don’t get nervous at this stage of the game.”
Richards’ eyes blazed and he made a quick step in his direction—to find the way blocked by Detective Ferguson.
“None o’ that,” he exclaimed hastily. “Remember, Mrs. Hale is present.”
Richards pulled himself together and his right arm dropped to his side.
“I quite understand that Mr. John Hale is aware that he has the protection of a woman’s presence,” he remarked. Again Robert Hale chuckled faintly, while his brother, coloring hotly, had difficulty in curbing his unruly tongue. The latter turned abruptly to his sister-in-law.
“Agatha, suppose you leave us,” he suggested.