“Heaps,” I vouchsafed, and then I told her, briefly, of Rodman’s probable guilt and also of the offered rewards.
“Jenny’s your trump card,” she said after a thoughtful silence. “That girl knows a good deal that she hasn’t told. I shouldn’t be surprised if she’s in Rodman’s employ.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, she’s too glib. She admits so many things that she has seen or heard and then when you ask her about others, she is a blank wall. Now, she does know about them, but she won’t tell. Why? Because she’s paid not to.”
“Then how can we get around her?”
“Pay her more.” And Norah returned to her typing. But she looked up again to say: “Mrs. Russell called here about an hour ago.”
“She did! What for?”
“I don’t know. She wanted to see you. She was a bit forlorn, so I talked to her a little.”
“I’m glad you did. Poor lady, she feels her brother’s absence terribly.”
“Yes; we discussed it. She thinks he has been killed.”