"Aren't you? What did you think we found out?"
Cunningham's eyes narrowed. A film of caution spread over them. "Oh, I don't know. You're so enterprising you might discover almost anything. It's really a pity with your imagination that you don't go into fiction."
"Or oil promotin'," suggested Cole with a grin. "Or is that the same thing?"
"Let's table our cards, James," his cousin said. "You know now why we're here."
"On the contrary, I'm more in the dark than ever."
Kirby was never given to useless movements of his limbs or body. He had the gift of repose, of wonderful poise. Now not even his eyelashes flickered.
"We want to know what you've done with Esther McLean."
"But, my dear fellow, why should I do anything with her?"
"You know why as well as I do. Somehow you've persuaded her to go somewhere and hide herself. You want her in your power, to force or cajole her into a compromise of her right to Uncle James's estate. We won't have it."
A satiric smile touched the face of Cunningham without warming it, "That active imagination of yours again. You do let it run away with you."