"Why, of course," was all that Dorothy could think to answer. "I am sure Tavia—Miss Travers—would be glad——"
"Here is my card," interrupted the woman, evidently noting Dorothy's embarrassment. Dorothy accepted the piece of cardboard, and glancing at it read:
Miss Estelle Brooks
Expert Penman
Envelopes addressed, etc. Benson Road, Ferndale.
As she read the card it flashed through Dorothy's mind that after all the woman might simply be trying to get trade. There seemed to be some connection between Tavia's envelope and the business advertised on Miss Brooks' card. But whatever could she want of Tavia? Surely she could not imagine a young girl needing the services of an expert penman?
"I saw your trouble in the store the other day," Miss Brooks ventured, "and was so sorry for you. I did want to help you—to tell that young woman detective just what I thought. But experience has taught me that it is not always best to interfere in such cases. It often only adds to the difficulty."
Dorothy could not find words in which to reply. Whatever she might say would either seem stupid or perhaps suspicious. And of the subtle ways of women "sharpers" Dorothy had often heard. It was, she decided, almost impossible to be sufficiently alert to offset their cunning. Perhaps this woman was one of that class—an adept at it.
"Is there any particular time you would like Miss Travers to call?" Dorothy asked, turning the subject sharply.
"I am always at home on Thursdays," replied Miss Brooks, "and she will have no trouble in finding me. I board at the Griswold."
Dorothy knew the Griswold to be a rest resort, a sort of sanitarium where fashionable people went to recuperate from home or social duties. This Miss Brooks did not appear to be in the circumstances of those who frequented the Griswold, the girl thought.
"I'll tell her," she said simply.