"Well," drawled Trafford, with an irritating air of indifference, that he could at times assume, "perhaps you don't know that a matter of some importance happened in Millbank that night and has led to our looking up all the strangers that were in town, especially those who did not seem to want to be seen."
"You refer, of course, to the Wing murder."
"I refer, of course, to the Wing murder."
"I regret Mr. Wing's tragic death," said the lawyer coldly; "and especially deplore the commission of such a crime. At the same time, I don't think it as important as Millbank naturally thinks it, and I imagine the State will manage to wag along in spite of the great loss it has sustained."
It was not so much the words, ill-timed and out-of-taste as they were, as the air with which they were uttered, that constituted their significance. It was as if in the mind that originated them there was a lurking bitterness, that the speaker would willingly conceal, which yet was so intense that it must find vent. There was a cruel hardness in the tone that made the words themselves all but meaningless.
