"What the—" began Anderson angrily, but checked the words in time. "You are mistaken. There ain't no one here, 'cept me."
"Is he one of your subordinates?" queried the woman, leaning forward in the attitude of one peering intently.
"Must be a shadow you're seein', ma'am," he suggested, and suddenly was conscious of the queer sensation that some one was on the opposite side of the tree.
"That's it!" she exclaimed eagerly. "A shadow! Aren't you detectives always shadowing some one?"
"Yes, but we don't turn into shadows to do it, ma'am. We just—"
"There he is! Standing directly behind you. What object can you possibly have, Mr. Crow, in lying to me about—"
"Lying?" gasped Anderson, after a swift, apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "I'm tellin' you the gospel truth. Maybe that confounded veil's botherin' your eyesight. Take it off, an' you'll see there ain't no one—"
"Ah! What a remarkable leap! He must be possessed of wings."
Mr. Crow himself moved with such celerity that one might have described the movement as a leap. He was within a yard of her when he next spoke; his back was toward her, his eyes searching the darkness from which he had sprung.
"Good Lord! You—you'd think there was some one there by the way you talk."