“I suppose we ought to ask if he found out anything, just to keep up appearances,” Terry suggested. “What do you think, girls?”
“Oh, of course, it would never do to let him think we had forgotten about him. We can stop in now and ask how the case is coming,” Arden replied. “But we don’t need to mention the telegram.”
The chief, when they pulled up by the garage, crawled out from under a car. With a comical show of secrecy he came toward them, glancing over his shoulder as he came.
“I ain’t had a chance to do nothing yet,” he said, wiping some grease off his hands. “My car broke down. But I’m a-studyin’ it, and I’ll let you know this afternoon. You heard anything?”
Arden hesitated before replying. After all, she had heard nothing. That they had an answer to their telegram was just a bit of luck, and she thought it just as well if the chief did not know of it.
“No,” she answered. “We haven’t heard a thing.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Reilly said, smiling. “Remember, a murderer always returns to the scene of his crime.”
“And you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” Sim flung back at him. He did so annoy her! Imagine “studyin’ it.” What good would that do, and what nonsense was that about a murderer?
“That’s right!” chuckled Reilly. “You know, young ladies, the whole trouble with cases of this kind is haste. Haste is what gums things up. Go slowly, and you have much better results. You ain’t told anyone in town, have you? These here people are powerful talkers.”
“Not a soul, Mr. Reilly,” Arden assured him.