“Well, Richards, have you anything to say?” demanded John Hale, and edged nearer him.
“Nothing—to you,” and John Hale flushed at his cutting tone.
“Perhaps you’ll have something to say to me, Major,” broke in Detective Ferguson. “Will you tell us how you got those bonds?”
Richards eyed the little group; his gaze rested longest on Robert Hale, then he turned to Ferguson, as the detective repeated his question.
“No,” he responded. “I will not tell you.”
Mrs. Hale leaned forward and placed a trembling hand on his arm.
“Did Judith give you the bonds?” she asked timidly.
“No, Mrs. Hale, she did not,” and Richards, catching her pitying look, felt a sudden tightening of his heartstrings. It was the first expression of sympathy vouchsafed him. Where—where was Judith?
Ferguson broke the brief pause.
“Major Richards,” he began, and Mrs. Hale clutched her chair in her excitement. Her head felt heavy, her breathing stifled—Dr. McLane had warned her about a weak heart. “You have heard Mr. Latimer, a reputable witness, testify that you sold bonds belonging to your wife, and Mr. Hale, your father-in-law, has stated that those bonds were stolen from his safe on Tuesday night. You declare that you left the Metropolitan Club on Tuesday at midnight, and that you lost your way and spent an hour walking about the streets before reaching this house at twenty minutes past one o’clock on Wednesday morning. Can you substantiate that statement with witnesses?”