"We are here, you see," said Ferris, as Edith seemed unwilling to speak, "but neither Miss Wedderburn nor myself can guess the reason of your very peremptory telegram."
"I think you know the reason very well," said Gebb, grimly, "else you would not be here. However, there is no need to talk secrets in the open, so if you will come with me to the Yellow Boudoir, we can speak more at our ease--and perhaps more openly," finished the detective, with a dry cough.
Edith looked at her lover in a quick, terrified manner, but judged it wiser to make no remark, and the two meekly followed Gebb into the Yellow Room. Here they sat down side by side on the primrose-hued couch, while Gebb, after glancing outside to see that Mrs. Grix was not listening, closed and locked the door. Then he drew a chair in front of the couch, and surveyed the pair in no very friendly manner.
"Well, Miss Wedderburn and Mr. Ferris," he said, with much displeasure, "It seems I have to find out things for myself."
"What things?" asked Edith, flushing; for, not knowing the extent of Gebb's knowledge, neither she nor Ferris was prepared to speak freely.
"Things which you know. Miss Wedderburn, and about which you could have informed me. If I had known then what I know now," added Gebb, with emphasis, "I might have had less trouble and more result in this murder case."
"I don't understand you," faltered Ferris, doubtfully.
"You may understand me better when I tell you that your father is in prison again."
"My father? Dean?"
"Yes, Dean or Martin--whichever you like to call him."