"Gene, Gene!" she exclaimed.
Her soft arms found their way about his neck, and she drew his face down and kissed him; then, without a word, she entered the room and closed the door. A minute passed—two, four, five—and Mr. Wynne stood as she left him, then he opened the front door and stepped out.
Frank Claflin was just starting toward the house from the corner with deliberate pace when he glanced up and saw Mr. Wynne signaling for him to approach. Could it be possible? He had had no orders about talking to this man, but—Perhaps he was going to give it up! And with this idea he accelerated his pace and crossed the street.
"Oh, Mr. Claflin, will you step in just a moment, please?" requested
Mr. Wynne courteously.
"Why?" demanded the detective suspiciously.
"There's a matter I want to discuss with you," responded Mr. Wynne. "It may be that we can reach some sort of—of an agreement about this, and if you don't mind—"
Claflin went up the steps, Mr. Wynne ushered him in and closed the door behind him.
Three minutes later Mr. Wynne appeared on the steps again and beckoned to Sutton, who had just witnessed the incident just preceding, and was positively being eaten by curiosity.
"This is Mr. Sutton, isn't it?" inquired Mr. Wynne.
"Yes, that's me."