“We’re sorta up against it,” he confessed. “Our suspicions are all running in one direction, and we don’t like it.”
“You have a suspect, then?” I asked.
“Hardly that, but we begin to think we know which way to look.”
“Any clews around, to verify your suspicions?”
“Lots of ’em. But take a squint yourself, Mr. Brice. You’re shrewd-witted, and—my old eyes ain’t what they used to was.”
I took this mock humility for what it was worth,—nothing at all,—and I humored the foxy one by a properly flattering disclaimer.
But I availed myself of his permission and tacitly assuming that it included Norah, we began a new scrutiny of the odds and ends on Mr. Gately’s desk, as well as other details about the rooms.
Norah opened the drawer that Mr. Talcott had locked,—the key was now in it.
“Where’s the checkbook?” she asked, casually.
Hudson looked grave. “Mr. Pond’s got that,” he said; “Mr. Pond’s Mr. Gately’s lawyer, and he took all his accounts and such. But that check-book’s a clew. You see the last stub in it shows a check drawn to a woman——”