Alta paused on about the fourth step where she could see into the room. No one needed to blue-print the situation for her. She stood there staring with eyes that were a little wider and a little rounder than usual, then she came forward with her chin up. “Why, Donald, what is this?”
“A personally escorted tour,” I said.
The detectives who seemed to be in charge pushed forward and said, “You’re Alta Ashbury?”
“Yes.”
“You hired this man to get some letters for you, didn’t you?”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Giving my father physical culture lessons.”
“Bunk.”
She drew herself up, and there was something about her that put the detectives on the defensive. “This is my father’s house,” she said. “I don’t think he’s invited you to call, and I’m certain I haven’t.”