“She isn’t the baby she looks! Always distrust a blonde.”
“But such a blonde!”
“Distrust them in proportion to their blondeness, then. But we’ve learned all we can here. Back to think it over, and puzzle it out.”
VI
Mrs. Faulkner’s Account
Now, although the residents of the aristocratic Rensselaer Park were willing, and even preferred to accept the burglar theory, rather than have more shocking revelations, the newspaper reading public was avid for sensation, and dissatisfied at the failure of the police to arrest anybody, even the hypothetical burglar.
Owing to the prominence of the victim, both socially and in the art world, a great hue and cry was raised for vengeance where vengeance was due. All sorts of theories were propounded by all sorts of people and interest increased rather than dwindled as no definite progress was reported.
Captain Steele was one of the most able men on the force, and his record for success in murder cases was of the best. His reputation was at stake, and he was working his very hardest in his handling of the present matter. His methods were persistent rather than brilliant, and his slowness was often the despair of quick-witted Robert Roberts.
“Captain,” Bobsy would say, “do you see that point?”
“I saw it long ago,” would be the exasperating reply.
“Well, what about it?”