“This is most important,” said Duane, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“For one thing, Mrs. Black was always within hearing at home, and I didn’t like to.”
“I think I’ll go right now to see this Lindsay; he may give us some valuable information.”
And Lindsay did.
He was a frank, outspoken young man and told Duane all he knew which was considerable.
“Of course, I read all about the murder that the papers told,” he said, “but I always felt there was more to come. What about that housekeeper person?”
“Mrs. Black?”
“Yes. I’ve not wanted to butt in, but she was described in the papers and then,—well, it’s a queer thing,—but some sweet-voiced fairy called me up one day and asked me if I knew Mrs. Black!”
“Perhaps that was the lady herself,” said Duane, who knew better.
“Don’t think so. Sounded more like some damsel in distress. Voice quivered and all that sort of thing. And she said that the Black person had called up this number the very night of the murder! What do you think of that?”