Drew flushed beneath his olive cheeks. He reached upward and turned down his overcoat collar. He laid his hat on a chair, braced his shoulders, and stared around the room. His eyes wandered from the walls to the inner opening. “Who’s in there?” he asked.
“Harry—Harry Nichols. I telephoned for him. I was afraid. I admit I’m afraid, Mr. Drew. You know what they did to father?”
“Yes, I know. It was an error on my part. We did not take the proper precautions. But this time—we will!”
“I hope you do. I don’t feel like myself, after last night. It came so suddenly. I heard you people talking in the lower hallway. I went to the bannisters and saw all the servants at the library door. And then—and then, I went down without a particle of warning. It was a shock, Mr. Drew.”
“One I could have spared you,” admitted the detective. “It was preventable,” he added, turning toward Delaney.
The operative stepped forward. He struck a chair with his foot and tumbled it over. Picking it up and setting it down on its legs, he flushed guiltily.
“Be careful!” snapped Drew. “Get me that letter this young lady received from Jersey. Get it! We’ll look it over right now!”
Delaney glanced at Loris. “She’s got it,” he said. “I gave it back to her.”
Loris shuddered and pressed her hands to her breast. “I tore it up,” she whispered. “I was so excited and angry I tore it up. It’s in the waste-basket.”
“Fetch the basket!” said Drew to Delaney. “Go get it. We’ll make this room our headquarters,” he added, swinging about on one heel. “We’ll stay right here and watch things, Miss Loris.”