"H'm," he said. "Very pretty--nice neat design--very chaste!"
He took out a cigarette case and opened it, seemingly entirely
unimpressed by both the badge and Anderson. The detective chafed.
"If you've finished admiring my badge," he said with heavy sarcasm,
"I'd like to know what you were doing on the terrace."
The young man hesitated--shot an odd, swift glance at Dale who
ever since his abrupt entrance into the room, had been sitting
rigid in her chair with her hands clenched tightly together.
"I've had some trouble with my car down the road," he said finally.
He glanced at Dale again. "I came to ask if I might telephone."
"Did it require a flashlight to find the house?" Miss Cornelia
asked suspiciously.
"Look here," the young man blustered, "why are you asking me all
these questions?" He tapped his cigarette case with an irritated
air.
Miss Cornelia stepped closer to him.
"Do you mind letting me see that flashlight?" she said.
The young man gave it to her with a little, mocking bow. She
turned it over, examined it, passed it to Anderson, who examined
it also, seeming to devote particular attention to the lens. The
young man stood puffing his cigarette a little nervously while the
examination was in progress. He did not look at Dale again.
Anderson handed back the flashlight to its owner.
"Now--what's your name?" he said sternly.
"Beresford--Reginald Beresford," said the young man sulkily. "If
you doubt it I've probably got a card somewhere--" He began to
search through his pockets.
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