“He’s a prisoner,” explained Miss Gray.
I gasped. “A prisoner?”
“Yes. Mr. Halloway is keeping him on that cliff and won’t let him leave,” she said, quite calmly.
“Halloway! Bob Halloway?”
She nodded defiantly. “Yes, Bob Halloway.”
“But—why, the thing is impossible.”
“Isn’t it ridiculous?” She gave a sudden charming smile. “I didn’t know the West was so delightfully primitive.”
“Surely one can’t hold up a copper king in that primeval fashion. It has to be done on Wall street.” Reflecting on Simon Gray’s probable reflections, I smiled. Immediately I regretted my indiscretion. The study of Miss Gray’s moods was a continual education. They were teaching me just now that she might laugh at that which I might not.
“Isn’t it humorous?” said Miss Gray, a little too sweetly. “Don’t let me curb your gayety. He’s only my father.”
Instantly I switched the indecorous mirth from my face. “I don’t see how he dares,” I murmured, to bridge the pause.