VII.
He was still there at half past six, when, following a quick knock, a large broad bulk which Juan recognized as Mr Harold Garneau came into the room.
“Good evening, sir,” said Mr Garneau, annoyed and peremptory. “Just what can I do for you?”
He came closer and a Sicker of recognition passed over his face.
“Oh!” he muttered.
“Good evening, sir,” said Juan.
“It’s you, is it?” Mr Garneau appeared to hesitate. “Brooks Templeton said that you were—that you insisted on seeing Noel”—he coughed—“that you refused to go home.”
“I want to see Noel, if you don’t mind.”
“What for?”
“That’s between Noel and me, Mr Garneau.”
“Mr Templeton and I are quite entitled to represent Noel in this case,” said Mr Garneau patiently. “She has just made the statement before her mother and me that she d
