Kane went on. “I have deep respect and affection for all of them, including Miss Gwenn Sperling, and I thought Rony wasn’t fit to be around her. May I ask a question?”
“Certainly.”
“I don’t know why you’re asking about my personal opinion of Rony unless it’s because you suspect me of killing him, not by accident, but intentionally. Is that it?”
“I wouldn’t say I suspect that, Mr. Kane. But this statement disposes of the matter with finality, and before I accept it as it stands—” Archer puckered his lips. “Why do you resent my questions?”
“I do not,” Kane said emphatically. “I’m in no position to resent questions, especially not from you. But it—”
“I do,” Sperling blurted. He had been restraining himself. “What are you trying to do, Archer, make some mud if you can’t find any? You said this morning it wasn’t the policy of your office to go out of the way to make trouble for men of my standing. When did you change your policy?”
Archer laughed. It was even closer to a giggle than it had been in the morning, but it lasted longer and it sounded as if he was enjoying it more.
“You’re entirely justified,” he told Sperling. “I’m tired and I was going on merely through habit. I also said this morning that if it was an accident no one would be better pleased than me but I had to know who was responsible. Well, this certainly should satisfy me on that.” He put the folded paper in his pocket. “No, I don’t want to make mud. God knows enough gets made without me helping.” He got to his feet. “Will you call at my office in White Plains tomorrow morning, Mr. Kane — say around eleven o’clock? If I’m not there ask for Mr. Gurran.”
“I’ll be there,” Kane promised.
“What for?” Sperling demanded.