Colonel Ashley worked quickly and silently, and he was about to give up, a look of disappointment on his face, when he found a slip of paper in one of the pigeon holes. And the slip bore this, written in pencil:
58 C. H.—171* [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
CHAPTER X. A WATER HAZARD
“Isn't there some place where you can take her for a few days—some relative's where she can rest and forget, as much as possible, the scenes here?”
“Yes, there is,” replied Miss Mary Carwell to Colonel Ashley's question. “I'll go with her myself to Pentonville. I have a cousin there, and it's the quietest place I know of, outside of Philadelphia,” and she smiled faintly at the detective.
“Good!” he announced. “Then get her away from here. It will do you both good.”
“But what about the case—solving the mystery? Won't you want either Viola or me here to help you?”
“I shall do very well by myself for a few days. Indeed I shall need the help of both of you, but you will be all the better fitted to render it when you return. So take her away—go yourself, and try to forget as much of your grief as possible.”
“And you will stay—”
“I'll stay here, yes. Shag and I will manage very nicely, thank you. I'm glad you have colored help. I can always get along with that kind. I've been used to them since a boy in the South.”