Sarah Judd smiled unbelievingly. Then she chuckled. Presently she laughed outright, in genuine merriment, as the thought that amused her grew and expanded.
"What fools—" she said, "what perfect fools—we mortals be!"
All this annoyed Nan Shelley exceedingly. The successful woman detective did not relish being jeered at by a mere girl.
"You've read the letter, I suppose, and are now making fun of me for trying to get it? Perhaps you've hidden it yourself—although that isn't likely. Why can't you give me an honest tip? We're both in the same line, it seems, and both trying to earn an honest living. How about that letter? Is it necessary for me to find it?"
"I've read it," admitted Sarah, "and I know where it is. You might perhaps find it, if you hunted long enough, but it isn't worth your while. It wouldn't help in the least to convict Hathaway and of course it couldn't tell you where he is now hiding."
"Is this straight?"
"True as gospel."
"Then why don't you prove it by showing me the letter?"
"Because I don't belong on your side of the fence. You're working for one organization and I for another. Any little tip I let slip is just for your personal use. Don't bother about that letter."
Susan—or Nan Shelley—sat for a time in thought. Once in a while she would cast a furtive glance around the room and its wall covered with trophies, and then she would turn to Sarah Judd's placid face.