“I do not. And you were so excited you came away and left your fur there?”
“Just that! I wasn’t sure I did leave it there, for I was at two or three other places that day. When do I get the squirly?”
“Oh, in a few days, I should say. I’ll take your yarn to headquarters, and they’ll do the rest. But, I say, when you came away from there, Mr Gleason was alive and well?”
“You bet he was! He fairly shooed me out—he was in a hurry to get ready to go to a party or something. Oh, my gracious!”
“What’s that exclamation for?”
“Nothin’. A pin stuck into me.”
Barry knew better. A sudden thought had come to the girl, a thought that filled her with dismay for some reason. But Philip Barry felt the matter was getting too serious for him, and he decided to put it in the hands of the police.
He went straight back to the Lindsays’.
“Come in, Mr Barry,” was the first greeting he heard, as he entered the library, where several people were sitting in conclave. “You’re just the man we want!”
The speaker was Prescott, the detective, and he held an open letter in his hand.