Joel drew a deep breath and looked quickly at Belknap.
“I think it must have been a personal question between my uncle and Mr. Crawford,” she said firmly.
Belknap appeared deaf to question and answer. Joel shuddered a little and dropped her eyes.
“Thank you, Miss Lacey. There seems to be mutual agreement on that point. You went to your room, you say. What next?”
She had prepared for bed slowly, for there was no hope of sleep and she wished to fill the time. She had stood at the window, walked the floor, sat by the fire. She thought, and thought; about shoes and ships and sealing wax, but about sin in particular, and finally about sin in the abstract.
“That’ll do,” said Stebbins curtly. He had been bothered by the way all his witnesses were inclined to wander off the beaten track into philosophizing and psychologizing. “Go on with the story.”
Then the idea of going directly to her uncle had occurred to her. At least she might find out why he was in this cold, bleak, inhuman mood. It might be he was facing a dilemma that was slowly but surely cornering him. Put in a corner for badness Bertrand Whittaker always went from bad to worse. This was worse.
She had crept out and along the hall—last night’s atmosphere had called for creeping—and was about to tap on her uncle’s door when she heard voices within: her uncle’s and Romany’s. Joel turned swiftly and slipped into a darkened doorway; and Romany had made her exit with a last dramatic fling over her shoulder. “All right, Bertrand, I’ll match you revelation for revelation if that’s your game. There are several of you due for a fall if I let so-and-so out of the bag. And I’m going to let her out.” Joel had caught so-and-so’s name and promptly lost it again in the frightful medley of subsequent events. She hoped it would come back. It was troubling her with a feeling of its vague familiarity.
Romany had disappeared, and no longer wanting a scene with her uncle, Joel had returned to her room and knocked on Julian’s door to ask for comfort and sympathy. She and Julian had discussed pros and cons, thises and thats, until Julian felt it was his turn to try to pour oil on Whittaker. He had left her sitting alone and desolate—promising a quick return; but he had never come back.