“I would say so,” Pollard returned, “but if that note is proved to be from him, it looks a little dubious.”
CHAPTER XI—Miss Adams Again
“Everything looks dubious!” Millicent exclaimed. “I do think it’s a shame! Here the days are flying by and absolutely nothing done toward discovering who killed my brother! Unless the police achieve something soon, I shall get a private detective.”
“Oh, they’re no good,” Louis advised her. “They’re terribly expensive and they make a lot of trouble and never get any results, anyway.”
“You speak largely, Louis,” Pollard said, smiling at the boy. “Do you know all that from experience?”
“No, not exactly; but I’ve gathered some such convictions from what I’ve heard of private detectives as a class.”
“What about Phil Barry and that letter?” Phyllis asked, her great eyes full of a troubled uncertainty.
“He must have written it,” Louis declared. “Isn’t that right, Pollard?”
“I don’t see any way out of it. It is most surely his signature, and he often writes on that old machine. Also, he did have a grouch about Mr Gleason’s attentions to Miss Lindsay—that I know. But, I don’t for a minute think he meant to kill Gleason and I don’t think he did. But the note will make him a lot of trouble.”
“You still suspect some Western friend?” said Millicent, looking earnestly at Pollard.