"Yes," she said, with bated breath. "I can't do Belle any good; she only wants to be alone. What do you want me to do?"
"Dig up every scrap of family history that you can—the Pages', the Fluettes', and the Coopers'; especially as they affect one another. Being a Cooper yourself, the task should be easy for you; you are compiling a family-tree, you know."
Genevieve gave me a sly look, and retorted:
"'When first we practise to deceive'—"
"Oh, no," I assured her. "If you do your work thoroughly, you certainly will have a complete family-tree. So there 's no deception about it."
Well, it was finally settled that she would go, and that she would report the result of her journey to me as soon as possible.
She then elicited a confession of my inability to solve the cipher—which confession was yielded up to the accompaniment of an exceedingly sour smile.
"That old house is a hoodoo," I said bitterly. "I have failed in everything I ever undertook inside its walls. The rest of the chase will be pursued on the outside."
"And you did n't even find the little daisy what-you-may-call-'ems—the originals, I mean?" She meant the crazy designs on the cipher.
"I did not."