Lawrence and his wife were at opposite sides of the library table.  At sight of Carroll, Lawrence laid down his paper and rose to his feet.

“Well?” he inquired inhospitably.

Carroll laughed lightly.  “It got too much for me.  Too much youth.  I dropped in here for a chat with you folks.”

“I didn’t understand that you had come to call on us,” said Lawrence coldly.

“Why, I didn’t—­”

“You did!” snapped Lawrence.  “I’m no fool, Carroll.  From the minute I heard you were coming, I knew what you had up your sleeve.  You wanted to talk about the Warren case!  Now suppose you go ahead and talk—­then get out!”

CHAPTER XIII

NO ALIBI

Carroll was rarely thrown from a mental balance, but this was one of the exceptions to a rule of conduct where poise was essential.  His eyes half-closed in their clash with the coldly antagonistic orbs of his host.  His instinctive dislike of the man flamed into open anger and he controlled himself with an effort.

One thing Lawrence had done:  he had stripped from Carroll his disguise as a casual caller and settled down ominously to brass tacks.  Carroll shrugged, forced a smile—­then glanced at Naomi Lawrence.

She had risen and was staring at her husband with wide-eyed indignation.  Undoubtedly she was horrified at his brusqueness.  For the first time, she, too, had made it plain that Carroll was not welcome—­that his ruse of calling upon Evelyn had been seen through plainly—­but he could see that even under those circumstances she was not forgetful that he was a guest in her home and, as such, he was entitled to ordinary courtesy.

Carroll was more than a little sorry for her, and also a bit rueful at his own plight.  Things had gone wrong for him from the commencement of the evening.  And this—­well, the gage of battle had been flung in his face and he was no man to refuse the challenge.  But his muscles were taut until the soft voice of Naomi broke in on the pregnant stillness—­

“Won’t you be seated, Mr. Carroll?”

Carroll smiled gratefully at her.  With her words the unpleasant tension had lightened.  He dropped into an arm chair.  Lawrence followed suit, his close-set eyes focused belligerently on Carroll’s face, the hostility of his manner being akin to a personal menace.  Naomi stood by the table, eyes shifting from one to the other.

“I’d rather,” she suggested softly, “that we did not discuss the Warren case.”

“It doesn’t matter what you prefer,” snapped her husband coldly.  “Carroll forced himself upon us for that purpose—­with a lack of decency which one might have expected.  Let him have his say.”

Carroll gazed squarely at Lawrence.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you see fit to act as you are doing.”

“I asked for no criticism of my conduct.”

“Just the same, dear—­” started Naomi, when her husband interrupted angrily—­