The Chief Inspector laid down his pipe. O'Connor was away, and he wheeled up his friend's capacious armchair for his caller.
An exceedingly good-looking, well-dressed young woman entered. Undoubtedly a lady, and yet to his keen eyes with a something about her he found difficult to place.
“Chief Inspector Pointer?” Her accent told him what it was that had puzzled him. She was from the other side of the ocean. He bowed in his most friendly manner, and pulled O'Connor's chair still more into the light. She sank into it, and gave him the longest, keenest look the police-officer had ever had from a woman. Obviously she was weighing him carefully. Then she smiled.
“I'm glad I came. I made the manager of the Enterprise Hotel give me your private address. My name is Christine West; I'm a sort of adopted niece of Mr. Ian Erskine of Calgary. Here is my passport, and here is a letter with another photo in it of mine from the Head of the Toronto police. I got him to certify that I really am Miss West.”
The Chief Inspector was even more on the alert than before, if possible, when he handed her back her papers and photographs.
“Uncle Ian was a bachelor, you know, and my mother kept house for him after father died. That was twenty-three years ago, and Four Winds was my home till Uncle Ian's death. A dear and happy home it was, too.” Her eyes grew soft. “I saw about poor Rob's death in the papers a little over a month ago, and about John Carter's arrest. My mother is dead, so I'm my own mistress, and I set out right away to see what can be done. For something has got to be done.”
Chapter VII
Miss West looked at the man sitting at his ease on the other side of the fireplace with a very determined tilt of her chin.
“Now, Mr. Pointer—you mustn't mind if I call you that, but I'm not talking to the Inspector of Scotland Yard just now——”
“A Chief Inspector from the Yard—” he corrected modestly, disclaiming the elevated rank she thrust upon him.