“Why, it wasn’t a woman, surely,” said he.
“I guess you’re right about the papers not being on to so much,” grinned the policeman. “But you’ll have to call up Bellevue if you want any information. As I said to start with, this thing is supposed to be kept rather quiet; and I think I’ve done too much talking as it is.”
As they walked down the street Webster said thoughtfully:
“The complications seem to pile up, don’t they?”
“Amazingly. And with every lap the track gets heavier. I think the best thing that we can do is to pay a visit to Bellevue and have a talk with someone there who can give us definite information.”
There was something in the speaker’s tone that made his friend look at him quickly.
“Don’t let the matter get on your nerves, old boy,” warned Webster. “You’ll only put yourself in a daze; and then you’ll never get to the bottom of it.”
“I know it; but then there is—”
He paused abruptly and gestured the rest.
“You mean the girl?” Webster frowned. All along he had feared this phase of the affair; the girl had struck him from the very first as looming altogether too large in Kenyon’s account of it.