“Certainly!”
“To whom, may I ask?”
He spoke sharply and there was a challenging ring in his voice. It nettled the girl.
“Only to me,” she said quickly, and added: “You needn’t think he has told the police!”
Very deliberately Robin plucked his handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped his lips, and replaced it. The girl saw that his hands were trembling.
“Why do you say that to me?” he demanded rather fiercely.
Mary Trevert shrugged her shoulders.
“This afternoon,” she said, “when I told you of my engagement to Hartley, you began by abusing him to me, you rushed from the room making straight for the library where we all know that Hartley was working, and a few minutes after Bude hears voices raised in anger proceeding from there. The next thing we know is that Hartley has ...”
She broke off and looked away.
“Mary,”—Robin’s voice was grave, and he had mastered all signs of irritation,—“you and I have known one another all our lives. You ought to know me well enough by now to understand that I don’t tell you lies. When I say I haven’t seen or spoken to Hartley Parrish since lunch this afternoon, that is the truth!”