The door slammed in his face.
“Phew!” said Babe, wiping his brow. “Let’s open the window and let in some fresh air!”
“Who is he?”
“Search me,” said Rex Lander. “I’ve no illusions about Uncle Jesse’s early friends. I gather that he’s been a pensioner of the old boy’s, and there is probably some truth in his charge that he was robbed. I cannot imagine uncle giving money away from charitable motives. Anyway, I’m seeing him tomorrow and I’ll ask.”
“You’ll see nothing,” said Tab. “Do you ever read the fashionable intelligence or society news? Uncle is leaving town tomorrow.”
Rex smiled.
“That is an old trick when he doesn’t want to be seen—by Joab! It is the Wellington who has put his name in the society column!”
Tab paused, pen in hand.
“Silence will now reign,” he commanded, “whilst a great journalist deals adequately with the Milligan Murder Appeal.”
Rex looked at him, admiringly.