alertly round at Verrian, with his hands still on his shins. "What's the
use of our beating round the bush?"

Verrian delayed his answer long enough to decide against the aimless pun
of asking, "What Bushwick?" and merely asked, "What bush?"

"The bush where the milk in the cocoanut grows. You don't pretend that
you believe Mrs. Westangle has been getting up all these fairy stunts?"

Verrian returned to his cigar, from which the ashen wraith dropped into
his lap. "I guess you'll have to be a little clearer." But as Bushwick
continued silently looking at him, the thing could not be left at this
point, and he was obliged to ask of his own initiative, "How much do you
know?"

Bushwick leaned back in his chair, with his eyes still on Verrian's
profile. "As much as Miss Macroyd could tell me."

"Ah, I'm still in the dark," Verrian politely regretted, but not with a
tacit wish to wring Miss Macroyd's neck, which he would not have known
how to account for.

"Well, she says that Mrs. Westangle has a professional assistant who's
doing the whole job for her, and that she came down on the same train
with herself and you."

"Did she say that she grabbed the whole victoria for herself and maid at
the station?" Verrian demanded, in a burst of rage, "and left us to get
here the best way we could?"