“Wait!” he said. “You are not talking to me as anybody’s brother-in-law, but as the district attorney.”
The girl laughed vindictively.
“I don’t wonder you’re ashamed of him!” she jeered.
Again she began: “I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me then. He told me he was not a married man.”
As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. At this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion as well, opened the door.
With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.
“For Mr. Wharton,” he explained, “from his chauffeur.”
Wharton’s annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. “What the devil——” he began.
He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes to Mrs. Earle.
“He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube,” he said. “How long would it take him to get there and back?”