“No harm in looking,” Stone said, and began forthwith to search the desk drawers and compartments.
The search was fruitless, until at length, a small checkbook was found.
And a curious revelation it gave them. For of its blank checks but one had been torn out, and the remaining stub gave the information that it was a check for ten thousand dollars drawn to the order of Anita Austin.
Those who looked at it stared incredulously.
“It is dated,” Stone said, “the date that Doctor Waring died.”
It was. Had this too, been given to the strange young woman, whom Stone was beginning to designate to himself by the title of adventuress? Was it possible that young girl, who seemed scarce more than a child, had some how maneuvered to get all this from a man whom she had deliberately fascinated and infatuated?
It was incredible—yet what else could be assumed?
Gordon Lockwood looked deeply distressed. His lips set in a tight line, and he said, through his clenched teeth:
“I don’t care! Nothing can shake my faith in that girl! She is blameless, and only these misleading circumstances make you think otherwise, Mr. Stone.”
The detective looked at him as one might regard a hopeless lunatic.