“I’d turn him up, sir! But—By G-d, I’d beat him up first!”
“You haven’t any suspicion of who killed Harrison?”
Harley shook his head.
“I’ve no idea, sir.”
“All right.” Bernard looked at Landis.
“That’s all, Harley. Much obliged.” Landis rose and led the man to the library where he left him with the others. On the way out again he turned suddenly and called.
“Step this way again, will you, Stimson?”
Harley’s eyes followed them as they left the room together.
Seated in the drawing-room, it was Landis who took up the task of questioning.
“Stimson,” he began with brusque friendliness, “I understand from Harley that Harrison was in a devil of a temper this morning when he went to town. Do you know why?”