All of this was for a purpose. Vance was setting the precedent, and they
were becoming used to hearing stories. At the end of each tale the
silence of expectation was longer and wider. Finally, it reached the
other end of the table, and suddenly the sheriff discovered that tales
were going the rounds, and that he had not yet been heard. He rolled his
eye with an inward look, and Vance knew that he was searching for some
smooth means of introducing one of his yarns.

Victory!

But here Elizabeth cut trenchantly into the heart of the conversation.
She had seen and understood. She shot home half a dozen questions with
the accuracy of a marksman, and beat up a drumfire of responses from the
ladies which, for a time, rattled up and down the length of the table.
The sheriff was biting his mustache thoughtfully.

It was only a momentary check, however. Just at the point where Vance
began to despair of ever effecting his goal, the silence began again as
lady after lady ran out of material for the nonce. And as the silence
spread, the sheriff was visibly gathering steam.

Again Elizabeth cut in. But this time there was only a sporadic
chattering in response. Coffee was steaming before them, Wu Chi's
powerful, thick, aromatic coffee, which only he knew how to make. They
were in a mood, now, to hear stories, that tableful of people. An
expected ally came to the aid of Vance. It was Terence, who had been
eating his heart out during the silly table talk of the past few minutes.
Now he seized upon the first clear opening.