CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTBull looked calmly at the two. There was no evidence of the abruptness of his mental about-face as he rapidly recast several of his ideas.
He went across the room to Royce.
“Let me have the letter, please,” he said.
Royce held up his hands promptly. “I haven’t got it,” he said. “Search me if you want to.”
“I don’t need to do that,” Bill replied. “Will you excuse me, ma’am?”
He bowed and left the room. He closed the door deliberately. In the hall his manner changed; he was at the head of the stairs in two strides and down them in five, silently on the heavily carpeted steps. Quickly and quietly he went down the lower hall and turned the handle of Mrs. Royce’s sitting room. A glance into the cold fire-place was enough; a few black cinders were all that was left of th
