“Dead man!” The words chilled the girl.
She turned questioningly to Johnny. With rising suspicion she saw the boy nod his head in answer to the interrogation in her eyes.
“Let me see it!” she demanded, stretching out her hands toward Johnny, who was drawing the picture from his pocket.
One glance at it was enough for the girl.
“Father!” she exclaimed. “It is my picture.”
“Of course,” the old man snapped. “Ask him how he came by it.”
“Johnny, tell me,” Molly cried, “what does it all mean? What is this talk of ‘dead man’? From whom did you get this picture?”
And now Johnny faced Kent.
“From Crosbie Traynor,” said the boy.
“From Crosbie Traynor,” Molly repeated slowly.