Mollie giggled and promptly forgot to be indignant.
“You know what I think of eavesdroppers, don’t you?” she countered, and Allen grinned.
“I wasn’t,” he said. “I could hear your voice raised in anger, fair maid, all the way down to the corner.”
“Goodness, I didn’t know it was as penetrating as all that,” she said, adding, with an hospitable wave of her hand: “Come in, stranger, come in. Hang up your hat and make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” returned Allen, and was immediately the center of merry bantering.
“How is our famous sleuth this evening?” queried Frank. “Have you run the villain to earth or is he still running?”
“Give us the inside stuff, old boy,” urged Roy, leaning forward confidentially. “Has the old gentleman left you all his money or only a couple of millions? Don’t be close, old man. Remember, we’re all your friends.”
“I doubt it,” retorted Allen, and over the heads of the “rabble” exchanged a glance with Betty. “I judge from your remarks,” he said then, “that Betty has told you about my mysterious old client and his taste in wills.” His voice lowered and his face took on the grave look which it so often wore of late. “The poor old man has made his last will. He is dead.”
A silence fell upon them all and they felt suddenly and solemnly depressed. Death, even the death of a stranger, is not a thing to be taken lightly.
Mollie was the first to rally.