With surprising jauntiness Polly Beale saluted Dundee. "Nothing more deadly on any of us than Flora's triple-deck compact."
"I thank you with all my heart, Miss Beale," Dundee said sincerely. "And now I think you may all go to your homes.... Of course you understand," he interrupted a chorus of relieved ejaculations, "that all of you will be wanted for the inquest, which will probably be held Monday."
"And what's more," Captain Strawn cut in, to show his authority, "I want all of you to hold yourselves ready for further questioning at any time."
There was a stampede for coats and hats, a rush for cars as if the house were on fire, or—Dundee reflected wryly—as if those he had tortured were afraid he would change his mind. Rushing away with hatred of him in their hearts....
Only Penny Crain held back, maneuvering for a chance to speak with him.
"I don't have to go with the rest, do I?" she begged in a husky whisper.
"And why not?" Dundee grinned at her, but he was glad there was no hatred in her eyes.
"I'm 'attached' to the district attorney's office, too, aren't I?"
"Right! And you've been a brick this evening. I don't know what I should have done without you—"
"Well, I can't see that you've done much with me," she gibed. "But I'd like to stick around, if you're going to do some real Sherlocking—"