“Why, Pinckney! How dreadful of you! Don’t say such a thing!”
“But I know it. If you’d heard Jim Haskell and Philip Leonard talk—I felt sure they meant to kill Doctor Waring.”
“Pinky, I forbid you—”
“But it’s true, Auntie. And if it’s true, you want them shown up, don’t you, whichever one it was?”
“Hush, Pinky—hush!”
“Yes, shut up, Pink,” Lockwood spoke sternly. “What you suggest is highly improbable, but even if there’s suspicion of such a thing, don’t babble about it. That’s the detective’s work.”
“Yes—and who’s your detective? Old blind-as-a-bat Morton, I’ll bet, who can’t see a hole through a ladder! I’ll show him now—”
“Pinky, I beg of you, hush,” said his Aunt, losing her self-control.
“There, Auntie, dear, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to worry you, but something must be done—”
“Something will be done, Pinky,” Lockwood assured him. “But I tell you right now, if you try to stick your inexperienced finger in this pie, you’ll make trouble for us all—from your aunt down. Now, behave yourself. Try to be a man, not a foolish boy.”