Angus obeyed, waiting and wondering. Hendrie's present mood was entirely new to him. He had stirred the fires in this man, and must now watch, and wait, to see how they burned.
But the result was elusive. Hendrie reached out and drew the cigar cabinet toward him. With deliberate care he selected a cigar, and pushed the cabinet within the other's reach.
"Smoke," he said laconically; and Angus fingered one of the priceless cigars tenderly.
Hendrie pierced the end of his cigar with elaborate care. He lit it. Then he leaned back in the chair, and, locking his fingers, rested his elbows upon the arms of it, while his eyes remained upon the blotting-sheet in front of him.
Presently he looked round, and a swift, cold glance shot into Angus Moraine's face.
"When I came in here I'd sent for you," he said. "You were in your quarters—which was not usual at this time." He paused. Then he went on. "Being in your quarters you could have joined me in thirty seconds. You came after ten minutes or so. When you came, you came quietly. Guess you stole into the room—to see what I was doing. Why? Because you had discovered this blotting-sheet—with its writing. You'd found it, examined it, and placed it back in the pad reversed; and—you knew it was my wife's writing. Guess you've something to tell me—go ahead."
The directness of the challenge was so characteristic of Hendrie that Angus was not wholly unprepared for it. The keen analysis of his personal attitude disconcerted him, perhaps, but, after a moment's thought, it left him comparatively untroubled. It was only another exhibition of Hendrie's wonderful mentality—that mentality which had carried him soaring above the heads of all his rivals.
"How much d'you want to know?"
For a second Hendrie's cold, gray eyes lit, then his swift command came with tremendous yet restrained heat.
"All, damn you, all!"