“What’s my business here?” queried the young man, obviously fencing with his interrogator.
“No—how do you earn your living?” said Anderson sharply.
“I don’t,” said the young man flippantly. “I may have to begin now, if that is of any interest to you. As a matter of fact, I’ve studied law but—”
The one word was enough to start Lizzie off on another trail of distrust. He may be a LAWYER— she quoted to herself sepulchrally from the evening newspaper article that had dealt with the mysterious identity of the Bat.
“And you came here to telephone about your car?” persisted the detective.
Dale rose from her chair with a hopeless little sigh. “Oh, don’t you see—he’s trying to protect me,” she said wearily. She turned to the young man. “It’s no use, Mr. Beresford.”
Beresford’s air of flippancy vanished.
“I see,” he said. He turned to the other, frankly. “Well, the plain truth is—I didn’t know the situation and I thought I’d play safe for Miss Ogden’s sake.”
Miss Cornelia moved over to her niece protectingly. She put a hand on Dale’s shoulder to reassure her. But Dale was quite composed now—she had gone through so many shocks already that one more or less seemed to make very little difference to her overwearied nerves. She turned to Anderson calmly.
“He doesn’t know anything about—this,” she said, indicating Beresford. “He brought Mr. Fleming here in his car—that’s all.”