Inside the room the visitor swept the place with a single all-including glance. Thereafter, apparently, he observed nothing. "First of all, then," he initiated bluntly, "do I intrude? If so, I can tell my business in five minutes; if not, we might possibly become acquainted." Again Randall colored; then he smiled, his saving quality. "Not in the least. It's Friday night, you know. In addition I was a bit lonely. I'm distinctly glad to see you." "Which, interpreted, means glad to see any one." "Yes, I suppose so." For an instant the old odd smile shone in Roberts' eyes, then it disappeared, leaving them normal, inscrutable. "To begin with, then, I came primarily to talk about Steve Armstrong. I believe he's a friend of yours." "Yes." A halt, then the query direct returned. "Is he of yours?" "I'll answer that question later, if you please. At least he's the one adult to date I can remember who ever called me by my first name. Did you know that he'd returned to town?" "Yes. He was here last night." "Responsible, was he?" "Mr. Roberts!" Randall flushed like a woman with strangers. "Pardon me, but there are some questions I can't answer--at least until you answer my own of a moment ago." "I understand perfectly. Also, contrary to your suspicion, I didn't avoid your question to make it difficult for you. It requires two to be friends. Enmities I, personally, have none. Life's too short and too busy. If it will assist you any, I met Armstrong in the street this evening face to face, and he declined to speak. I judge he's no friend to me. Am I any more clear?" "Yes," simply. "Do you wish to answer my question now, then?" "I judge you have a good reason for asking. He was not responsible, wholly." "Not even decently so?" "Hardly." "I gathered as much from his appearance to-night. It was the first time I'd seen him in nearly a year. You know the whole story between Armstrong and myself, I take it?" "Yes," once more. "And your sympathy is naturally with him." "It has been." "And now--" The smile that made Randall's face boyish came into being. "I'm deferring judgment now--and observing." "I fear I can't help you much there," said Darley, shortly. "I wished to discuss the future a bit, not the past. The last time I talked with Armstrong he was impossible. I think you know what I mean. All men are that way when they lose their nerve and drown the corpse. What I wish to ask of you is whether the thing was justified. I'm not artistic. I don't brag of it--I admit it. You're different; your opinion is of value. Commercially, he's an impossibility. He couldn't hold a place if he had it--any place. I don't need to tell you that either. As a writer--can he write, or can't he?" Harry Randall took off his big eyeglasses and polished one lens and then the other.