“Nothing,” answered the solicitor. “We were discussing peculiarities of temperament. I was just telling your friends what people used to say of your father. You know, we are all mad on some subject.”
“I see,” replied Fair, smiling. “Allyne has mentioned madness and madhouses, I should say, about once every five minutes all day long.”
“Yes, and we mean it,” thundered Allyne. “At it now. This is rum.”
“I can put the facts before you in a word, Marshall,” said Fair.
“Do so. I am all attention,” returned the lawyer, settling back into his chair with a puzzling look, in which there was certainly a trace of amusement not easily explained.
“Some Cuban gentlemen have been extorting blackmail from certain aristocratic families,” went on Fair in a monotone, “and they had, without my knowledge, frightened Mrs. Fair into paying them considerable sums. The leader of the gang, one Pablo Mendes, came to my house yesterday, and finding him in the library with Mrs. Fair I killed him.”
“Proceed,” said Marshall when Fair paused to note the effect of his announcement, speaking with so much coolness that Fair jumped up and went on fiercely: “I tell you, I shot him down like a dog—murdered him in cold blood. The servants heard the report of the pistol. Travers came in a moment after the shooting and saw the pistol still warm. I hid the man’s body in a chest in the library, from which it was taken by somebody today—so any effort on my part to delay the hand of justice would be ridiculous. What shall I do?”
“Nothing!” exclaimed Marshall. Then he added, as if regretting the unguarded word: “That is, I can’t advise you until I know more. Go on.”
“That’s the game, Marshall,” put in Allyne, pleased by the lawyer’s manifest incredulity. “Fair, you idiot, do you fancy that everybody has gone off his head just because you have?”
“Oh, please, Mr. Allyne,” said Marshall deprecatingly.