“Tell me,” she said, “about what you have been doing in town. Have you found out any more about what that poor old man had on his mind?”
“I know all about that,” said Allen, the puzzled frown growing on his forehead which Betty had come to associate with any mention of the case he was working on. “I know the old man and his motives from A to Z. If I could only find his sister——”
“His sister!” Betty exclaimed, surprised, and Allen bit his lip.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, adding, abruptly: “Let’s talk of something else.”
“I don’t know anything to talk about,” said Betty, a little coolly. She did not like the way Allen shut her out of his confidence, even if it was business. “We’ve been having lots of fun, but not very much adventure.”
“Miss me?” he questioned, and immediately Betty became her old tantalizing self once more. She smiled at him mysteriously and murmured, with her face turned the other way: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It was Allen’s turn to be put out. Since he said nothing, neither did Betty, and for some time they sat staring before them, each busy with his own thoughts.
It was Betty at last who broke the rather ridiculous silence by speaking of the Old Maid of the Mountains. By Allen’s blank stare she realized that this was the first mention he had heard of their little old lady.
“Let’s get down and join the others,” said Betty, as she swung herself to the ground, “and while we’re on the way I’ll tell you of our queer little discovery.”
Betty had expected Allen to be rather mildly interested, but she was not prepared for the sudden keen interest he showed when she mentioned the exquisite needlework of the little old lady.