“Forgive me for calling you in this peremptory way, Mr. Eckhart,” she said, “but I cannot talk to these men. You were good enough to offer to help, and, since I am alone here, I am forced to take you at your word.” Then she turned to the reporters, adding, “Mr. Eckhart knew my husband. You will please talk with him.”
Her voice was steady; but my quick eye caught a familiar, listless gesture of her left hand as she finished.
“But, Mrs. Crocker,” persisted the older man, “it has been said that—”
I threw the door wide, and sprang directly in front of Heloise, facing the reporter.
“Get out!” I said.
He frowned, but backed toward the door, as I advanced on him. Thus I got them out into the corridor. I was all ablaze. But at the door I turned for one brief glance at Heloise. Her lips were compressed. She gave me a swift look of warning. This steadied me. I closed the door, and walked down the corridor after the reporters.
“Come downstairs,” I said, “and ask your questions of me.”