There was a cheerful glow in the windows, although the curtains were down. Keene had cast aside his Yankee togs, and appeared undisguised.
The bell was answered by the widow Bordine herself, who at once invited him into her cozy parlor.
No one was here.
The detective glanced keenly around and noted the comfort of the little house. How could the young man who had built such a snug nest turn his attention into criminal channels? The widow was but sixty, with a plump form, pleasant eyes and agreeable manners. Detective Keene was at once prepossessed in her favor.
Could the son of such a woman be the villain appearances indicated? or had there been a grand mistake somewhere?
"My name is Keene," said the detective, introducing himself. "I called to see your son."
"My son is not in."
"When will he return."
"Not until late. His business requires him to keep late hours sometimes."
"Which is unpleasant for you."