"I don't know anything about investing money; but I know this is very queer. And you didn't like him—or you said you didn't."
"I said I did, dear—after a fashion—and so I do."
"In that case I should think a good deal would depend upon the fashion. Look here. It's addressed—Miss Strange. That's his writing. That's how he scribbles his name. And there's something written in tiny, tiny letters in the corner. What is it?" Without touching the envelope she bent down to see. "It's The Wild Olive. Now, what in this world can that mean? That's not business, anyhow. That means something."
"No, that's not business, but I haven't an idea what it means." Miriam was glad to be able to disclaim something. "It was probably on the envelope by accident. Some clerk wrote it, and Mr. Strange didn't notice it."
Evie let the explanation pass, while continuing to stare at the object of her suspicions.
"That's not papers," she said, at last, pointing as she spoke to something protruding between the rubber bands. "There's something in there. It looks like a"—she hesitated to find the right article—"it looks like a card-case."
"Perhaps it is," Miriam agreed. "But I'm sure I don't know why he should bring me a card-case."
"Why don't you look?"
"I wasn't in a hurry; but you can look yourself if you want to."
Evie took offence. "I'm sure I don't want to. That's the last thing."