“With searchlight?” barked Anderson.
The young man turned to face this new enemy.
“Well, why shouldn’t I be on the terrace with a searchlight?” he demanded.
The detective moved toward him menacingly.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?” said the young man with cool impertinence, giving him stare for stare.
Anderson did not deign to reply, in so many words. Instead he displayed the police badge which glittered on the inside of the right lapel of his coat. The young man examined it coolly.
“H’m,” he said. “Very pretty—nice neat design—very chaste!” He took out a cigarette case and opened it, seemingly entirely unimpressed by both the badge and Anderson. The detective chafed.
“If you’ve finished admiring my badge,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “I’d like to know what you were doing on the terrace.”
The young man hesitated—shot an odd, swift glance at Dale who ever since his abrupt entrance into the room, had been sitting rigid in her chair with her hands clenched tightly together.