She was all a-tremble.
Behind her, holding her arm, was a smallish, sharp-faced young man.
"He--he came in with the roast," Matilda stammered wildly.
Mr.Pyecroft had sprung up from the bed.
"And who is _he_ ?" "Mr.Mayfair, of the 'Record,'" answered the young man, loosing Matilda and stepping forward.
Mrs.De Peyster shivered frantically down beneath the bedclothes, her see-sawing hopes once more at the bottom.

Mary leaned limply back in the shadow and hid her face.
"He tried to question me--and he made me bring him--" Matilda was chattering.
"May I inquire what it is you wish, Mr.Mayfair ?" requested Mr.
Pyecroft--and Matilda fled.
"You may," rapidly said the undeceivable Mr.Mayfair.

Mr.Mayfair had learned and made his own one of the main tricks of that method of police inquisition known as the "third degree": to hurl a fact, or a suspicion with all the air of its being the truth, with bomb-like suddenness into the face of the unprepared suspect.

"I know Jack De Peyster has made a runaway marriage! I know he and his wife are living secretly in this house!" "Why, this news is simply astounding!" exclaimed Mr.Pyecroft.
"Come, now.

Bluffing won't work with me.