Horace Trevert shook himself free.
“Certainly you shall know,” he answered with hauteur, “but I must say I should have thought that, as a lawyer and so on, you would have guessed my meaning without my having to explain. What I mean is that, now that Hartley Parrish is dead, there is only one man who knows what drove him to his death. And that’s yourself! Do you want it plainer than that?”
Robin took a step back and looked at his friend. But he did not speak.
“And now,” the boy continued, “perhaps you will realize that your presence here is disagreeable to Mary ...”
“Did Mary ask you to tell me this?” Robin broke in.
His voice had lost its hardness. It was almost wistful. The change of tone was so marked that it struck Horace. He hesitated an instant.
“Yes,” he blurted out. “She doesn’t want to see you again. I don’t want to be offensive, Robin..”
“Please don’t apologize,” said Greve. “I quite understand that this is your sister’s house now and, of course, I shall leave at once. I’ll ask Jay to pack my things if you could order the car ...”
The boy moved towards the door. Before he reached it Robin called him back.
“Horace,” he said pleasantly, “before you go I want you to answer me a question. Think before you speak, because it’s very important. When you got into the library yesterday evening through the window, you smashed the glass, didn’t you?”