Before he could telephone Anita—or Kedzie, as he mentally corrected himself—he was informed that a Mr. Connery was at the door, asking for him. He nodded and went into the library, carrying the newspaper with him.
Connery grinned sadly and mumbled: “I see you've seen it. I thought you'd like to know about it.”
“I should,” said Dyckman. “Sit down.”
Connery sat down and told of the accident and what led up to it. He spoke in a lowered voice and kept his eye on the door. When he had finished his story he said, “Now, of course this all comes out very convenient for you, but I suppose you see how easy it would be for me to tell what I know, and that mightn't be so convenient for you.”
“Are you beginning your blackmail again so early in the morning?”
“Cut out that kind of talk or there's nothing doing,” said Connery. “I can make a lot of trouble for you, and I can hush up a lot. Unless I speak I don't suppose anybody else is going to peep about Miss Adair being Mrs. Gilfoyle, and about Mr. Dyckman being interested in his wife. If I do speak it would take a lot of explaining.”
“I am not afraid of explaining to the whole world that Miss Adair is a friend of mine and that her father and mother were present when I called.”
Connery met this with a smile. “But how often were they present when you called?”
Dyckman grew belligerent again: “Do you want me to finish what I began on you last night?”
“I'm in no hurry, thank you. You can outclass me in the ring, but it wouldn't help you much to beat me up, would it?—or Miss Adair, either. She's got some rights, hasn't she?”