“How could you misplace them?” Bruce demanded sharply. “You kept them all together, didn’t you? I wanted that picture.”
“It’ll turn up, of course,” Sprudell replied soothingly. “And when it does I’ll get it to you by the first mail.”
Bruce did not answer—there seemed nothing more to say—but there was something in Sprudell’s voice and eyes that was not convincing. Bruce had the feeling strongly that he was holding back the letter and the picture, but why? What could they possibly mean to a stranger? He was wrong in his suspicions, of course, but nevertheless, he was intensely irritated by the carelessness.
He arose, and Sprudell did likewise.
“You are going West from here?”
Bruce answered shortly:
“On the first train.”
Sprudell lowered his lids that Bruce should not see the satisfaction in his eyes.
“Good luck to you, and once more, congratulations on your safe return.”