“Don’t worry, Mr. Cray. I’ll see to it, that this young woman does not succeed in evading justice, if she tries to do so.”
At which Miss Mystery gave her a smile that was so patronizing, even amused, that the spinster was more irate than ever.
“And, now, Miss Austin,” the attorney said, “I’ll take your finger prints, please, as they may be useful in proving what you did not do.”
He smiled a little as the girl readily enough gave her consent to the procedure.
“And,” he went on, more gravely, “I will ask you for one of your shoes—one that you wore on Sunday.”
Surprised into a glance of dismay, Miss Mystery rose without a word and went upstairs for the shoe.
She returned with the dainty, pretty thing, and merely observed, “I’d like to have it back, when you are through with it.”
Putting the shoe in his overcoat pocket, Cray went away.
“Miss Bascom,” Anita said, turning to her enemy, “may you never want a friend as much as I do now.”
“The nerve of her!” Liza Bascom muttered to herself, as Miss Mystery went upstairs to her own room.