He turned away from her brusquely.
"I'll ask you to bring Miss Van Gorder here," he said in his
professional voice.
"Why do you want her?" Dale blazed at him rebelliously.
He was quiet. "Because this case is taking on a new phase."
"You don't think I know anything about that money?" she said, a
little wildly, hoping that a display of sham anger might throw him
off the trail he seemed to be following.
He seemed to accept her words, cynically, at their face value.
"No," he said, "but you know somebody who does." Dale hesitated,
sought for a biting retort, found none. It did not matter; any
respite, no matter how momentary, from these probing questions,
would be a relief. She silently took one of the lighted candles
and left the living-room to search for her aunt.
Left alone, the detective reflected for a moment, then picking
up the one lighted candle that remained, commenced a systematic
examination of the living-room. His methods were thorough, but
if, when he came to the end of his quest, he had made any new
discoveries, the reticent composure of his face did not betray the
fact. When he had finished he turned patiently toward the billiard
room--the little flame of his candle was swallowed up in its dark
recesses--he closed the door of the living-room behind him. The
storm was dying away now, but a few flashes of lightning still
flickered, lighting up the darkness of the deserted living-room
now and then with a harsh, brief glare.
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