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That something was evidently behind his reticence made it all the more unsatisfactory, since the result was that Gifford had no object in going to Wynford Place, for he had nothing to tell. Indeed he learnt more from the Morristons than from Henshaw. The police had concluded their investigations on the premises, much to the relief of the household, who were now left in peace.
The police authorities committed themselves to no definite theory at that stage, and at their request the inquiry was adjourned for a month. Morriston, leaving the hall with Kelson and Gifford, asked them to walk back with him to Wynford Place. "Let us throw off this depressing business as well as we can," he said.
"I shall not deny it to you, Mr. Gifford, even if I thought it could be of any use. But, knowing so much, you owe it to me to hear my explanation of matters which look so black against me, and above all to accept my absolute assurance that so far as I am concerned Clement Henshaw's wound was quite accidental. Indeed I never dreamt that he had been hurt until his body was found."
"But I should think you would want to go because it will be such a pleasure to Helen to have you there," she said. Gifford smiled; he had twisted his braid of grass into a ring, and had pushed it on the smallest of his big fingers, and was turning it thoughtfully about. "I don't believe," he said, "that it will make the slightest difference to Helen whether I am there or not. She has Mr. Ward."
"And how did you advise him?" Gifford asked, his face preternaturally grave. Mr. Denner looked anxious. "That is just it. I have been unable to come to any conclusion. He did think he could reach a decision, he tells me, for a friend of his thought he knew a proverb which would throw a light upon it." "Settle it by a proverb!" cried Gifford. "Yes," answered Mr.
So it happened that when Miss Ruth Woodhouse came to inquire for him, she had been in Mr. Denner's thoughts all the afternoon. "Not," he kept assuring himself, "not that I have changed my mind, not at all, but she is Miss Deborah's sister." It was after five when Mary pushed the library door open softly, and looked in, and then beckoned mysteriously to Gifford.
"Aunt Jane, Miss Gifford asks to be introduced to you. Miss Gifford Lady Jane Willoughby." Reginald beat a hurried retreat, and Claire seated herself at the end of the sofa and smilingly awaited her companion's lead. It did not come.
Oliver stopped for a bagel on his way to the hospital and read the paper like a proper commuter. Gifford Sims shook his hand and then led him farther down the hall and into another office. "Suzanne," he said, "this is Oliver Prescott. He will be working with us on the computer." He nodded at Oliver and left. A man known far and wide for his small talk, Oliver almost said.
On his side, Gifford Barrett was gaining considerable amusement from the morning conventions on the beach. As a general thing, he only watched the people in groups, and entertained himself with making shrewd guesses as to the probable relationships existing in those groups. Only two individuals made distinct impressions upon him.
"Jest lit down 'twixt two days and dug a hole and struck hit right there at grass-roots, did ye? That's tenderfoots' luck, ever' time. Vein runnin' bigger?" Gifford admitted that it was, and the one-eyed man begged a bit of tobacco for the filling of his blackened corn-cob pipe.
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