"Nothing to be got that way," he said. "Typepaper—impossible to trace. No amateur business about this."
Suzanne's voice was husky:
"Do you mean it's professional people—a gang?"
"I can't say exactly. But from what you tell me—the way it was accomplished, the plan of action—I should be inclined to think it was the work of more than one person—possibly a group—who had ability and experience."
Suzanne, clutching at the corner of the desk with a trembling hand, cried in her misery:
"Oh, Mr. Larkin, you don't think they'll hurt her. They wouldn't dare to hurt her?"
The detective's glance was kindly but grave:
"Mrs. Price, I'll speak frankly. I think your child is in the hands of a pretty desperate person or persons. But I have no apprehension that they'll do her any harm. They don't want to do that—it's too dangerous. What they might do if their plans fail is a thing we'll not consider—it'll only weaken your nerve. And that's what you've got to keep hold of. You'll get her back all right, but you must be cool and brave."
"I'll be anything; I'll be like another person. I'll do anything. No one need be afraid I'll be weak or silly now."
"Good—that's the way to talk. Now let me know a little about the way the situation stands. It's odd I've seen nothing about this in the papers—heard nothing. Your family must be active in some direction. What are they doing?"