She said. “You’re a city detective and are supposed to know all the answers, but you must think the country is a backwoods. I’d certainly have to be dumb to believe all you’ve told me.”
“If you believe it,” I said, “and there’s any jam, I’m the one who’s responsible. If you conspire with me, then you’ve stuck your neck out. Don’t you see?”
The indignation faded from her eyes. There was apprehension. “What are you getting into?” she asked.
I met her eyes and said, “I m darned if I know.”
She thought for a while, then said, “Okay. But it makes me look awfully dumb. Under those circumstances, we go to dinner and a movie. What do I do for money?”
I took a wallet from my pocket and handed her some of Bertha Cool’s expense money.
“And how about clothes?” she asked.
I said, “You buy a new wardrobe — such as you have to have for the next day or two. And one more thing, Miss Dunton. When I was talking with Mr. Ellis, he said that he thought it would be a bad plan for you to read the newspapers for the next few days.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, be said that there would be things in it about this case, and that he didn’t want you to get a lot of erroneous ideas fixed in your mind from reading the stuff the newspapers would be publishing.”