“That is a new idea.”
“Yes; I know it’s almost incredible,—but what idea isn’t? Say Mr Varian went suddenly insane,—and I can’t think of any other way,—and attacked Betty with a revolver. Say, trying to protect herself, it went off and killed him,—perhaps the weapon was in his hands, perhaps in hers,—and then, the child, in an agony of fear or remorse, ran away,—I don’t know how she got away,—but, don’t you see, Mrs Blackwood, she must have left the premises somehow,—or——”
“Or they would have found her by this time,—yes, of course.”
“Now, I’ve offered ten thousand dollars reward for any information that will lead to finding Betty,—dead or alive. Mr Granniss thinks it will bring no results, but I can’t help hoping. And if it doesn’t,—what can I do?”
“You’re going to employ a detective, aren’t you? These local authorities are not capable of managing a case like this.”
“Yes; Mr Granniss advises a Mr Wise,—but I can’t see what any detective can do. There’s nothing to detect, as I can see.”
“That’s just it. We can’t see,—but the trained detective can.”
“Here is your mail, Mrs Varian,” said Granniss, coming into the room, “will you run it over?”
Minna glanced at the letters, mostly notes of sympathy, or letters of advice from would-be helpful friends, but there was one that caused her to exclaim in amazement.
“Oh, Rodney,” she cried, “will you look at this!”