I resented that description of Bud, and it made the tone of my retort rather bitter, I suppose.
"While you do your work along such sweeping lines," I suggested, "that the chance to pack a jury is never overlooked and an ex-judge can always be retained to confirm the acquittal!"
He laughed at that, quietly and a little bewilderingly.
"Well," he retorted, "I've at least kept out of jail, however I do my work!"
"So have I!" was my prompt counter to that retort. "And what's more important—"
Instead of completing that sentence, however, my voice trailed off into silence. For, closely as I had been looking at the face of the man across the table from me, I became vaguely conscious of a movement not many feet beyond the spot where that man sat.
Without actually looking at the door in the wall directly behind him, I became aware of the fact that this door had slowly swung back, as though moved by a listener hidden in its shadow.
I didn't betray that discovery by any sudden movement or start. But my first thought was of the unknown woman I had seen asleep in the blue and gold bedroom up-stairs.
