"Very well, sir. I don't wish to make myself more disagreeable than I can help. I'll take your word."
Directly he was in the hall and the door was closed Miss Strong caught Mr. Franklyn by the arm. He could feel that she was trembling, as she whispered, almost in his ear--
"Mr. Franklyn, what does that man want with Cyril?"
He drew her with him into the sitting-room. Conscious that he was about to play a principal part in a very delicate situation, he desired to take advantage of still another moment or two to enable him to collect his thoughts. Miss Wentworth, having relinquished her reading, was sitting up in her armchair, awaiting his arrival with an air of evident expectancy. He looked at Miss Strong. Her hand was pressed against her side; her head was thrown a little back; you could see the muscles working in her beautiful, rounded throat almost as plainly as you may see them working in the throat of a bird. For the moment Mr. Franklyn was inclined to wish that Cyril Paxton had never been his friend. He was not a man who was easily unnerved, but as he saw the something which was in the young girl's face, he found himself, for almost the first time in his life, at a loss for words.
Miss Strong had to put her question a second time.
"Mr. Franklyn, what does that man want with Cyril?"
When he did speak the lawyer found, somewhat to his surprise, that his throat seemed dry, and that his voice was husky.
"Strictly speaking, I cannot say that the man wants Cyril at all. What he does want is to know if I am in communication with him."
"Why should he want to know that?" While he was seeking words, Miss Strong followed with another question. "But, tell me, have you seen Cyril?"
"I have not. Though it seems he is in Brighton, or, rather, he was two hours ago."