"Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking distance. But no one ever'd suspicion Cokesbury. He ain't the murderin' kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he's goin' to Europe."
"Is he now? Where'd you hear that?"
"From Miner, that runs the Azalea Garage. He come down to the station just now and gave me a package. Something Cokesbury left in the motor the last time he was down. I'm to hand it over to his servant at Jersey City."
"Is it love letters that he don't want to leave behind?"
"No, I guess he's careful of them. Here it is," he drew out of his breast pocket an envelope with Cokesbury's name and address written on it and held it out to me. "That ain't no love letter."
I pinched it.
"It's a key. It may open the desk where the love letters are kept."
"I guess he's too fly to keep any dangerous papers like that around."
"Yes," I says, "they might set the house on fire."
"Well, ain't you the sassy kid," says he and then the train slowing up for a station he walked on up the aisle.