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detective, her eyes flashing, her cheeks aflame.
“How dare you!” she cried. “How dare you insinuate that Mr. Winthrop is capable of killing a man! You should know better.”
“How should I?” asked Barnes.
“Why—just by looking at him,” said Mary Will.
Barnes smiled.
“My dear young lady, I’m mighty sorry for you,” he said, “but all the evidence———”
“Once more,” put in Mark Drew, “I’m going to ask you to wait.”
Barnes said nothing, but turned and stared at him with annoyance plainly written on his face. Mary Will sat down again, and I gave her hand a grateful squeeze. Mark Drew went over to his father’s wife.
“As you know,” he said, “I have been out of touch with my family for the past five years. During that time what
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