It was a task Darrell did not like.
Every time he thought of it he saw the face of Lillian before him, and in the depth of those liquid eyes there appeared such a world of truth that the detective was fain to shake his head.
Experienced man of the world as he was, he could not believe her guilty.
There must be some mistake.
So he made his way to his rooms, feeling depressed over the events of the night.
He hated the thought of his next meeting with the lady—how could he face her and tell her what he had seen and heard?
“Hang the foolish fellow—how could he treat such an angel in that way?”
Hold on, Mr. Darrell, before twenty-four hours have flown you will perhaps have changed your mind and concluded that even angels may be of the earth, earthy.
When he arrived at his apartments it was about half-past twelve.
As he opened the door he saw a card below. When he had applied the burning match to the gas, he picked this up.