Burgess asked eagerly. "It's a sure thing that somebody's been pulling the wires, making you walk the tight rope, and somebody that knows everything you do. Any man on the force who could spot him would be made."
"No, no," Pauline insisted, an uneasy remembrance of Harry's suspicions lending emphasis to her denial. "Some of those things were done before anybody out of the house could know."
"Just as I said," Burgess agreed triumphantly.
"It's somebody in the house. Why he knew about your bull terrier, and the papers had it had just been given you the day before—darned clever little dog to give your folks the clue."
"Cyrus?" Pauline's face broke into smiles and dimples. "He's the cleverest, dearest, most beautiful dog in the world."
"Fine dog, yes Miss, if he's like the picture the reporters got."
Pauline's face clouded—for the moment she had forgotten the horrors of publicity.
"You won't put this in the papers?" she pleaded.
"He shan't," Blount raised himself weakly on his elbow. "If the reporters haven't got it already, we'll keep you out of it anyhow, Miss."
"Keep a scoop like this out of the papers?" Burgess laughed aloud.
"You're talking through your hat, Blount, it can't be done."