"I doubt that, Dad. You remember he told us he was coming here to claim an inheritance. After meeting old Herman I'd guess that he didn't get it. Would you think——"
"I'm not thinking at all these days," chuckled Mr. Nichols. "I've padlocked my brain for two weeks. Please, Penny, don't try to stir up imaginary cases for me to solve."
Penny made no reply, for just then they came within view of an old farmhouse which answered the description provided by Herman Crocker. A tin mailbox by the roadside bore the name Anna Masterbrook.
"This is the right place," Mr. Nichols declared.
They went up the front walk, observing that it had been swept that morning. The porch was freshly scrubbed, too, and clean curtains hung in the windows.
"Mrs. Masterbrook must be a good housekeeper," the detective said. "I think we'll employ her if her price is right."
He rapped on the door. After a moment it was opened by a tall, gaunt-looking woman of middle age. Her black hair had been drawn back tightly from her face, accentuating the high cheek bones.
"Mrs. Masterbrook?" inquired the detective, lifting his hat.
"That's my name," said the woman. Her voice was high pitched and unpleasant. "If you're selling anything——"
"I am not a salesman," Mr. Nichols assured her. "Mr. Crocker sent us to you. I understand that you do cleaning work."