“I met Mr. Wenston before I met Mr. Mason.”
“How much before?”
“A few minutes before.”
“What are you doing here?”
Wenston interposed hastily, “She’s calling on a matter of business. It’s highly confidential. I don’t want anything thaid about it.”
Tragg pursed his lips. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Now let’s see. Wasn’t there an ad in this morning’s paper, an ad by someone who wanted to find the daughter of his dead partner?”
There was no sound in the room, save the rasping breathing of Elston A. Karr. As by common consent they turned to look at him.
“Your father’s name was Wickford?” Tragg asked the girl, whirling abruptly back toward her.
“In China he went under the name of Dow Tucker.”
“Wrote you about the partnership?”