“Hasn’t he found another place to work yet?”
“He’s had chances, but he hasn’t accepted any so far.”
“Well, he’s a nuisance, coming round here as he does.”
“Why, you needn’t see him, Eleanor. He can’t trouble you, if he just comes now and then to see me. And anyway, he hasn’t been here lately at all.”
“And I hope he won’t. Dear me, Avice, what good times we could have if you’d let up on this ferreting. And you know perfectly well it will never amount to anything.”
“If you talk like that, Eleanor, I’ll go and live somewhere else. Perhaps you’d rather I would.”
“No, not that,—unless you’d really prefer it. But I do hate detectives, whether they’re police, professional or amateur.”
Avice repeated this conversation to Duane, and he proposed that they have some of their interviews in his office, and he would then come to the house less frequently.
So, Avice went to his office and found it decidedly preferable to talk in a place where there was no danger of being overheard by servants or friends.
After due consideration she had concluded to tell the detective about Eleanor’s telephone message the night of the murder and her own subsequent call of the same number.