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It's their turn now, and you've got to grin and bear it." Mortlake's jaw dropped. His old bullying manner was gone now. Old Man Harding cackled inanely, but said nothing. Only his long, lean fingers drummed on the table. Fanning turned a pasty yellow. He had some idea of what was to come. His eyes fell to the floor, as if seeking some loophole of escape there.
Evidently the flushed, healthy-looking young people, who had been playing tennis so hard, were very despicable in her eyes. "There it is, down the road there," volunteered Roy. "It's that barn-like place." The appellation was unfortunate. The girl's eyes flashed angrily. "My name is Regina Mortlake," she said angrily. "I am Mr. Mortlake's daughter.
"I gave you fellows a twenty-dollar-bill a few days ago," he said, "in addition to that, you've been provided with clothes and lodging. What more do you want?" "We've got to have some more coin, that's flat," announced Slim decidedly; "come on, fork over, guv'ner. You've gone too far into this now to pull out." Mortlake's florid face went white.
"That's right. Beer is bad for poets. It makes their feet shaky. Whose was the second shadow?" "A man's." "Naturally. Mortlake's, perhaps." "Impossible. He was still striking eight hours." "You found out whose shadow? You didn't leave a shadow of doubt?" "No; I waited till the substance came out." "It was Arthur Constant." "You are a magician! You you terrify me. Yes, it was he."
A pack of greasy cards lay on the table-top, showing that Joey had been passing his time at solitaire. This fact showed Roy that the plot had been carefully concocted, and that the trap was all ready to be sprung much earlier in the day. Only a brain like Mortlake's, he reasoned, could have thought out such an intricate plan. And yet, what could be Mortlake's object?
A great mass of hair of the same color was piled on the top of her head in grown-up fashion, and her gown, of a magenta hue, which set off her dark beauty to perfection, was cut in the most recent too recent, in fact style. "Can you direct me to Mr. Mortlake's aeroplane factory?" she demanded in an imperious tone.
Poor old Jimmy he always hated Mortlake like the devil. . . . She was in Mortlake's car when the smash occurred, you know . . . No, I don't much think she'll marry him. If she goes on at the rate she's going now, she'll be flying for higher game in a month or two. I know women of that stamp had some myself, as you might say. . . . What really! poor old chap!
"And if he did, why didn't they prove it the first time?" "Hear, Hear!" "And if they want to arrest him, why couldn't they leave it till the ceremony was over? Tom Mortlake's not the man to run away." "Tom Mortlake! Tom Mortlake! Three cheers for Tom Mortlake!" "Hip, hip, hip, hooray!" "Three groans for the police!" "Hoo! Oo! Oo!" Wimp's melodrama was not going well.
He thought Jimmy was behaving like a weak fool. He would have stopped him had it been at all possible; but Jimmy had already left the table and crossed to where Cynthia was sitting. The sight of her in Mortlake's company for the second time that day had scattered his fine resolutions to the winds. There was a raging fire of jealousy in his heart as he went up to her.
"How long will that take, do you think?" inquired the officer, pulling out his watch and a time-table. "Not more than half an hour. It shouldn't take that." "That means I miss my train. If we don't get into Sandy Beach by eleven o'clock, I can't possibly make it. And there's not another from there for two hours. That would make me late for my appointment at Mineola." Mortlake's face fell.
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