“I don’t know. It depends on conditions and circumstances.”
“I hope, Mr. Ames,” I said, speaking more pleasantly than I felt, because I had no wish to antagonize him, “that you won’t feel it necessary to tell any one else what you have told us. Mr. Moore, of course, will tell the police whatever he deems wise, but I mean the matter needn’t become village gossip.”
“No, Mr. Norris,” Ames returned. “I have no wish to have Miss Remsen’s name bandied about. And now that I have told all I know, my own conscience is clear, and if not detained by the authorities, I shall go home. But I daresay they will keep me until after the finish of the inquest on Friday.”
Ames went off and his departure was closely followed by the arrival of that detestable little Posy May.
I cordially disliked the girl, and I felt sure she was bringing fresh tales about Alma.
Nor was I wrong.
The flapper swung herself over the arm of a big chair, and landed Turkish fashion in its depths. Demanded cigarettes and their attendant paraphernalia.
Then, with a solemn, owl-like expression on her pert little face, she said, “I have additional information.”
Keeley prepared to listen, for he had often said he gained more knowledge from outsiders than from the regular force.
“Yes,” Posy went on, “I’ve been inquiring round among the folks who live nearest to Whistling Reeds Island, and I’ve found three who have seen Alma when she was in her tantrums.”