Anita flashed a glance at him and entered the library, swaying her slim body just a trifle more than seemed necessary. She selected a comfortable chair and crossed her legs, making it almost impossible not to observe that her green chiffon stockings were rolled above her knees. As they found places facing her she brushed her skirt down a little and leaned back with a smile of faint amusement.
Though they knew her to be over twenty-one, she seemed the very latest in flappers, alluringly pretty, a little hard, scantily and revealingly clad in a low-cut evening dress of clinging green satin, bobbed and skilfully made up and with all the calculated daring of her type.
Unimpressed, though willing to let her think otherwise, Landis studied her intently. Back of her surface charm he saw that her features were a trifle heavy and would probably grow heavier. Behind her challenging manner he sensed a trace of nervousness. He stole a swift glance at Bernard to find him studying Anita’s hands. At the same instant she looked from Landis to his companion and with a little moue of annoyance snatched her hands behind her. But Landis had time to see that the slim, beautifully manicured fingers were trembling.
“Well?” she demanded petulantly, “did you call me down here to stare at me? Of course I’m frightened—with Dad and everything! Of course my hands are shaking!”
“Of course,” Landis agreed gently. “Miss Harrison, did you lock the door at the end of the wing tonight?”
Her dark eyes widened.
“Did I—No! Certainly not!”
“Did you close the door at the back of the library?”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Was that door closed when you came home this afternoon?”