Delehanty fixed her with an irascible, suspicious eye. "You come along with us the rest of the way, Miss. I want no trickery!"
Pen shrugged.
The search went on, that queer crew straggling through the rooms accompanied by their grotesque up-flung shadows. Through Pen's sewing-room and into Pendleton's bed-room. From thence they passed into the extraordinary room behind where he kept all his "Collections." He never threw anything away. Everything under the sun was to be found there. All around the walls were rickety, home-made tables heaped with his impedimenta.
All this occupied the searchers quite a while. They threw his stuff about regardless of his protests.
Finally there was the third story which Pen had long ago given up to dust and spiders and last of all the "cupalow" into which Keesing to Pen's amusement, ascended with drawn revolver.
In the end Delehanty stamped down-stairs in a villainous temper, his soft-footed sleuths at his heels.
At the front door Pendleton attempted to recover his dignity. "Now I trust you'll favor me with some explanation," he began.
"Ah! ask your daughter for the explanation!" snarled the detective. "Take my advice, and keep her home nights!"
They all went. Pendleton turned to Pen aghast.
"What did he mean by that?"