Opal arose and swept from the room, the eyes of the nabob following her with mute questioning.
He heard her on the floor above, and closed his eyes as he leaned back in the chair.
Did he suspect the truth?
Did the rich man dream that his child had handled a revolver within the last hour, and that she had aimed at a man’s breast?
If he thought of such things he made no sign.
It was some hours after these events that the door of the library was opened and Claude, his son, came in.
Lamont was now fast asleep, and the young sport watched him for ten minutes.
Stealing over to the desk, Claude opened a drawer near his father’s hand and extracted a large envelope therefrom.
As he was transferring it to his pocket Opal looked into the room, and then came forward.
“Don’t awaken him,” she said. “I want to see you, Claude. Come across the hall.”