“I’ve had some trouble with my car down the road,” he said finally. He glanced at Dale again. “I came to ask if I might telephone.”
“Did it require a flashlight to find the house?” Miss Cornelia asked suspiciously.
“Look here,” the young man blustered, “why are you asking me all these questions?” He tapped his cigarette case with an irritated air.
Miss Cornelia stepped closer to him.
“Do you mind letting me see that flashlight?” she said.
The young man gave it to her with a little, mocking bow. She turned it over, examined it, passed it to Anderson, who examined it also, seeming to devote particular attention to the lens. The young man stood puffing his cigarette a little nervously while the examination was in progress. He did not look at Dale again.
Anderson handed back the flashlight to its owner.
“Now—what’s your name?” he said sternly.
“Beresford—Reginald Beresford,” said the young man sulkily. “If you doubt it I’ve probably got a card somewhere—” He began to search through his pockets.
“What’s your business?” went on the detective.