For that reason the old man felt
annoyance as well as surprise when Robin broke into the usual routine of
his Monday morning, already disturbed by the mystery of Saturday night's
fire.
He had duly paid his respects to the little Forsyth heir with a Sunday
afternoon call and had afterward reported to Mrs. Norris that she "was a
little thing, all red hair and eyes." But now, as she stood at one end
of his desk, something in the resolute set of her chin arrested and held
his attention; there _was_ something more--he could not at the moment
say what--to the "little thing" than eyes and red hair.
Robin swallowed (as Beryl had instructed) and plunged straight into her
errand. Wouldn't he please let the Rileys stay in their cottage for a
little while--until something could be done?
At the mention of the Rileys the smile he had mustered vanished, and his
bushy eyebrows drew sharply down over his narrow eyes from which angry
little gleams flashed.
"Who asked you to come to me, Miss Forsyth?"
Robin's heart went down into her boots. "No one," she answered in a
faint voice. Then, quite suddenly, something in the hard, angry face
opposite her fired that spark within her that Beryl had assured her she
would feel.
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