“Of course he’s very busy.  If it’s anything I could do for you—­”

“I’d like you both to hear what I have to say.”

For the beating of a pulse his eyes thrust at her as though they would read her soul.  Then he was all smiling urbanity.

“That seems to settle the matter.  I’ll call my brother up and make an appointment.”

Over the wire Jack put the case to his brother.  Presently he hung up the receiver.  “We’ll go right over, Miss McLean.”

They went down the elevator and passed through the lower hall of the building to Sixteenth Street.  As they walked along Stout to the Equitable Building, Rose made an explanation.

“I saw you and Mr. James Cunningham at the inquest.”

His memory stirred.  “Think I saw you, too.  ’Member your bandaged arm.  Is it broken?”

“Yes.”

He felt the need of talking against an inner perturbation he did not want to show.  What was this girl, the sister of Esther McLean, going to tell him and his brother?  What did she know about the murder of his uncle?  Excitement grew in him and he talked at random to cover it.

“Fall down?”

“A horse threw me and trod on my arm.”

“Girls are too venturesome nowadays.”  In point of fact he did not think so.  He liked girls who were good sportsmen and played the game hard.  But he was talking merely to bridge a mental stress.  “Think they can do anything a man can.  ’Fess up, Miss McLean.  You’d try to ride any horse I could, no matter how mettlesome it was.  Now wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said dryly.  For an instant the thought flickered through her mind that she would like to get this spick-and-span riding-school model on the back of Wild Fire and see how long he would stick to the saddle.

James Cunningham met Rose with a suave courtesy, but with reserve.  Like his brother he knew of only one subject about which the sister of Esther McLean could want to talk with him.  Did she intend to be reasonable?  Would she accept a monetary settlement and avoid the publicity that could only hurt her sister as well as the reputation of the name of Cunningham?  Or did she mean to try to impose impossible conditions?  How much did she know and how much guess?  Until he discovered that he meant to play his cards close.

Characteristically, Rose came directly to the point after the first few words of introduction.

“You know my sister, Esther McLean, a stenographer of your uncle?” she asked.

The girl was standing.  She had declined a chair.  She stood straight-backed as an Indian, carrying her head with fine spirit.  Her eyes attacked the oil broker, would not yield a thousandth part of an inch to his impassivity.

“I—­have met her,” he answered.

“You know . . . about her trouble?”

“Yes.  My cousin mentioned it.  We—­my brother and I—­greatly regret it.  Anything in reason that we can do we shall, of course, hold ourselves bound for.”