“On the theory, I suppose, of in any trouble, look for the lady?”
“Somewhat, yes.”
They were talking in The Haven, for Jack had been put up there as a guest at the request of Colonel Ashley. And when the bell rang, indicating some one at the door, they looked at one another questioningly.
Then came the postman's whistle, for Lakeside, though but a summer resort, with a population much larger in summer than in winter, boasted of mail delivery.
A maid placed the letters in their usual place on the hall table, and the colonel quickly ran through them, for he had reports sent him from his New York office from time to time.
“Here's one for you, Jack,” he announced, handing his assistant a letter.
While Jack Young was reading it the colonel caught sight of a postal, with the address side down, lying among the other missives. It was a postal which bore several lines of printing, the rest being filled in by a pen, and the import of it was that a certain library book, under the number 58 C. H—161* had been out the full time allowed under the rules, and must either be returned for renewal, or a fine of two cents a day paid, and the recipient was asked to give the matter prompt attention.
The colonel turned the card over. It was addressed to Miss Viola Carwell at The Haven.
“So the book is out on her card,” murmured the detective. “I must look for her copy of 'Poison Plants of New Jersey,' and see if it is like the one I have.”
“Were you speaking to me?” asked Jack, having finished his letter.