“Dear old Kirk,” he mumbled.
“Nothing of the kind,” said Mrs. Porter sharply. “Mr. Winfield is a scoundrel of the worst type, and if you are as intimate a friend of his as your words imply, it does not argue well for your respectability.”
Mr. Penway opened his mouth feebly and closed it again. Having closed it, he reopened it and allowed it to remain ajar, as it were. It was his idea of being conciliatory.
“Tell me.” Mr. Penway started violently. “Tell me, when did you last see Mr. Winfield?”
“We went to Long Beach together this afternoon.”
“In an automobile?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! Were you here when Mr. Winfield left again?”
For the life of him Mr. Penway had not the courage to say no. There was something about this woman’s stare which acted hypnotically upon his mind, never at its best as early in the evening.
He nodded.