“Then how was it done?” cried Eunice, triumphantly; “for no one else knew where the knife was hidden, except that newspaper man who hid it, and he was sincere, of course, or there’d be no sense in the whole thing.”
“I know that. Yes, the newspaper people were hoodwinked, too.”
“Then what happened?” Eunice persisted. “There’s no possible explanation but telepathy. Is there, now?”
“I don’t know of any,” Hendricks was forced to admit. “After the excitement blows over a little, I’ll try to speak with Mortimer again. I’d like to know his opinion.”
They sat in the car, looking at the hilarious crowds of people, most of whom seemed imbued with a wild desire to get to the hero of the hour and demand his secret.
“There’s a man who looks like Tom Meredith,” said Eunice, suddenly. “By the way, Alvord, where do the Merediths stand in the matter of the club election?”
“Which of them?”
“Either—or both. I suppose they’re on your side—they never seemed to like Sanford much.”
“My dear Eunice, don’t be so narrow-minded. Club men don’t vote one way or another because of a personal like or dislike—they consider the good of the club—the welfare of the organization.”
“Well, then, which side do they favor as being for the good of the club?”