“The nephew?”
“Yes. Don’t flirt with him,—that isn’t the rôle, but talk kindly to him, and thereby find out all you can about the Everett bunch. If you admire his sweetheart——”
“Haven’t seen her yet.”
“Well, you will. And then be real nice and girly-chummy with her, and so get both the lovers on your side. Then we can find out things otherwise out of our reach.”
“Meaning the oldsters won’t give up.”
“Of course not, if they’re guilty. I’ll take hold of the Crippen end,—and then, if your hunch about the recipe has anything to it, it will come out,—and you sidle up to the lovers. We want to get quick action, for the murderer may get scared and run away.”
“Shall I insinuate anything about the older women to——”
“Mercy, no! You see, Bates is scared to death now, for fear it was his aunt, and even more scared for fear it was Dorcas’ mother! And those very real fears let Bates himself out,—if anybody ever had a thought of him.”
“Oh, nobody could.”
“No; well, there’s your work cut out for you. Also——”