“But I cannot imagine why you should come to me with such a proposition. Why don’t you go to Mrs. Cowdrick?”
“I’d rather deal with a man; a man understands business so much better. And as you are interested in Cowdrick’s family, going, as it were, to be near and dear to him, it struck me that maybe you might give him a chance to go off quietly upon a trip to Europe, or somewhere, and save him from a term of years in jail. How does it strike you?”
“Very unfavorably. In the first place, I have not enough money for your purpose; and, in the second place, if I did have it, I should decline to expend it for the benefit of Mr. Cowdrick.”
“Then you refuse to negotiate?”
“Yes, positively.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Detective Gunn, rising, “I merely wished to ascertain what your views were. Pardon me for interrupting you. No offence, I hope? Good morning.” And Mr. Gunn withdrew, while Weems closed and bolted the door.
The artist had hardly seated himself, and resumed the work of depicting the Witch of Endor, when another visitor knocked at the door. Mr. Weems arose, drew the bolt, and opened the door wide enough to permit him to look out.
“May I come in?” asked Leonie Cowdrick, with an effort at cheeriness in her voice.
“Oh, certainly. Glad to see you,” replied Mr. Weems, admitting her. But Mr. Weems did not look as if he really felt very glad.
“Pardon me for calling, Julius,” she said, “but I think I must have left my satchel when I was here last week. I cannot find it anywhere.”