She laughed lightly and passed on down the stairs.
Garth breathed more freely. He waited until the front door had slammed, until he had heard the motor whir, until he was sure she was started for her reception or dance, unsuspecting the desolation he had brought into her home. Then he swung on Black.
"Come in here."
He indicated the living-room.
Black followed with uncertain steps. The light shone on his sallow face out of which heavy eyes looked distrustfully.
"What do you want?" he asked. "What does Manford want?"
"Don't trouble to sit down, Mr. Black," Garth directed. "I've little time—just enough to tell you that I'm on to you."
Black with an odd, halting motion reached the centre table. His fingers shaking, he lifted a cigarette from a silver box and essayed to strike a match. The wood splintered. He fumbled aimlessly about the table. He took the unlighted cigarette from his mouth. He stammered.
"Wh—what the devil do you mean?"
"No use bluffing," Garth said. "You give yourself away. But don't get too scared. I'm the only one who knows."