“It has probably been destroyed,” said Mr. Lee, and Betty rolled dark blue eyes at her mother, who knew she had kept it.
“I could probably recall enough of it to satisfy you, though it contained no information that was valuable, I judge. It said nothing of any mother or sister and this is the first that I have heard of them.”
“Very good,” said the man in a satisfied tone. “Where was he?” he then asked sharply. Betty frowned again. Could her father tell him? Then the man would find Ramon and maybe kill him, for all Betty knew. Horrors! Her father was telling!
“When he wrote us he was in Detroit, but he gave no house address whatever.”
“Are you sure that no member of your family has heard again?”
“Quite sure, sir.” Mr. Lee spoke in that quiet, final way that usually closed matters in his office. Betty heard his chair pushed back and knew that he had risen. “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?” she quoted in a school-girl fashion to her mother in a low whisper. They sat quietly till the final good afternoon was said and her father closed the front screen door. Then Betty jumped up and ran into the front room to meet him.
“Oh, Father, you told him! And I know he’s the ‘villain!’”
Mr. Lee grinned, much as Dick was accustomed to do, and approached his daughter with his fists closed and the favorite gestures of small boys about to engage in a fisticuff. That made Betty laugh, too, and she caught at his threatening arms to hold him.
The arms went around her and then he drew her toward where his wife was now standing, questioning with her eyes. “As my son would put it, you think I’ve spilled the beans, don’t you? Well, I haven’t, kiddie.” Mr. Lee dropped his voice to a stage whisper.
“Ramon Balinsky Sevilla is not in Detroit!”