“She couldn’t be—be implicated—could she, Salt?”
“No!” he thundered. “Esther, you astound me. That Bascom woman has turned your brain. She’s a viper, that’s what she is!”
He stormed out of the room, and getting into his great coat, tramped down to the village.
Gordon Lockwood was in his room. This was much to the annoyance of Callie, the impatient chambermaid, who wanted to get her work done.
Lockwood was himself impatient to get over to the Waring house, for he had much to do with the mass of incoming mail and the necessary interviews with reporters and other callers.
Yet he tarried, in his pleasant bedroom at Mrs. Adams’, his door securely locked, and his own attitude one of stupefaction.
For the hundredth time he reread the crumpled paper that he had taken from the study waste-basket under the very nose of Detective Morton.
Had that sleuth been a little more worthy of his profession he never would have allowed the bare-faced theft.
And now that Lockwood had it he scarce knew what to do with it.
And truly it was an astonishing missive.