"That's the name! That's the man!" cried Dorothy. "I remember now!
He once pinched my face till I cried."
"You have seen him, then? What sort of a looking being is he?"
"I don't remember much—only the horrid grin upon his face. I was only a child—and that impressed me. You didn't hear anything of Foster?"
"Not of his whereabouts—quite a bit concerning his character, none of it particularly flattering."
"I don't know where in the world he can be," said Dorothy. "Poor
Alice! What are we going to do now, with all these new complications?"
"Do the best we can," said Garrison. "Aside from the will, and my work on the murder of your uncle, a great deal depends upon yourself, and your desires."
Dorothy looked at him in silence for a moment. A slight flush came to her face.
She said: "In what respect?"
Garrison had no intention of mincing matters now. He assumed a hardness of aspect wholly incompatible with his feelings.
"In respect to Mr. Fairfax," he answered. "He will doubtless return—dog your footsteps—make himself known to the Robinsons, and otherwise keep us entertained."