[XXVIII]
Clancy was prepared to hear Spofford plead, argue, even threaten. Such action would have been quite consistent with his character as she understood it. But to her relief he accepted the situation. He rose stiffly from the chair.
"Well, I'll be moseyin' along. I'm gonna look into a coupla leads that may not mean anything. But y' never can tell in this business. Much obliged to you, Miss Deane. No hard feelings?"
"None at all," said Clancy. "I think—why I think it's wonderful of you, Mr. Spofford, to be so—so friendly!"
Spofford blushed. It was probably the first time that a woman had brought the color to his cheeks—in anything save anger—for many years.
"Aw, now—why, Miss Deane—you know I—glad to meetcha," stammered Spofford. He made a stumbling, confused, and extremely light-hearted departure from the house. Somehow, he felt deeply obligated to Clancy Deane.
The door closed behind him, and Clancy sat down once again upon the stairs. She felt safe at last. Now that the danger was past, she did not know whether to laugh or cry. Was it past? Before yielding to either emotional impulse, why not analyze the situation? What had Spofford said? That until the murderer was captured, she would always be apprehensive. Until the murderer was caught——
She tapped her foot upon the lower stair. There was no questioning Spofford's sincerity. He did not believe her guilty. But—— The telephone-bell rang. It was Sally Henderson.
"Miss Deane?... Oh, is this you? This is Miss Henderson. Man named Randall telephoned a few minutes ago. Very urgent, he said. I don't like giving out telephone-numbers. Thought I'd call you. Want to talk with him?"