"I know one who does," I said, smiling. But she sat up in bed suddenly and looked at me with her clear childish eyes.
"I don't want him to like me!" she flashed. "I—I want him to hate me."
"Tut, tut! You want nothing of the sort."
"Mrs. Pitman," she said, "I sent for you because I'm nearly crazy. Mr. Howell was a friend of that woman. He has acted like a maniac since she disappeared. He doesn't come to see me, he has given up his work on the paper, and I saw him to-day on the street—he looks like a ghost."
That put me to thinking.
"He might have been a friend," I admitted. "Although, as far as I know, he was never at the house but once, and then he saw both of them."
"When was that?"
"Sunday morning, the day before she disappeared. They were arguing something."