“Oh, that’s simple enough! We have an old typewriter down here that Father uses occasionally, and Ted frequently practises on it.”
“But did you notice the paper?” Leslie insisted. “It was queer, thin, almost foreign-looking stuff. Do you folks use that kind, or happen to have it about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose he got it somewhere. What does it matter, anyway?” answered Phyllis, sleepily. And in two minutes more she was in the land of dreams.
But Leslie, still unconvinced, tossed the night through without closing her eyes.
CHAPTER XIV
THE MAN WITH THE LIMP
Two days had passed. To Leslie it was a constant marvel, considering the secret tension under which she lived, that outwardly her life went on in the same peaceful groove. She rose and dressed as usual, prepared the meals, ate and chatted with Aunt Marcia, walked on the beach or down to the village, fished occasionally with Phyllis and the Kelvins, took a dip in the ocean when it was not too chilly, read and slept and idled, as if there were nothing in the world but what was quiet and normal and in the ordinary course of things.
Aunt Marcia suspected nothing. Even Ted, who, she was certain, suspected many things, laughed and chatted with and teased her, and never by so much as a word or look indicated the slightest suspicion of her interest in Curlew’s Nest and its affairs. With Phyllis his manner was somewhat different, and during the last two days their relations had seemed occasionally rather strained, but there was no open break, in public at least.