He could not help grilling Helen for the pain she had caused him. "Now it's come to a show-down, Taylor, and we want to ask you a few questions."
His manner was galling. Resentment rose with a flush to Taylor's face, and behind that came fear.
But he said, outwardly at ease, "Fire away."
Goddard looked at Helen, who had not moved. Her breast rose and fell quickly and she was chalk white.
"In the first place you know this man Rowe, and there is no use denyin' it."
"I hadn't thought of denying it," he said, and looked to Helen as though for an explanation of this performance. He saw in her face that fright—and a growing something—suspicion?
"I thought so," jeered Goddard. "Now will you tell us what his job is?"
"He is my father's private secretary."
He saw the girl start sharply, heard an inarticulate whisper from her; saw Milt settle himself on one foot and smile grimly and nod.
"Yeah. Working for Luke Taylor. He came up here for Luke Taylor, didn't he? He was here just now on your father's business, wasn't he?"
Rowe here! He had lied, then; he had not gone back to Detroit last night; the days of grace which John expected had not materialized. He had been tricked, outguessed! It confused him.
"Look here, Goddard—Helen. This is something I've feared for a long time. I've been trying to work it out for weeks and I've kept still because you had enough to think about. I can explain if—"
"That's what we want, Taylor, is for you to explain.
