The door stood open and from within came the reassuring howl of a radio turned too high.
“Nothing so very serious can have happened,” remarked Penny. “Otherwise, Mrs. Weems wouldn’t have that thing going full blast.”
At the sound of footsteps, the housekeeper herself came into the living room from the kitchen. Her plump face was unusually animated.
“I hope you didn’t mind because I telephoned the office, Mr. Parker,” she began apologetically. “I was so excited, I just did it before I stopped to think.”
“Penny and I were nearly ready to start home in any case, Mrs. Weems. Has anything gone wrong here?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Parker. It was the telegram.”
“Telegram? One for me, you mean?”
“No, my own.” The housekeeper drew a yellow paper from the pocket of her apron, offering it to the publisher. “My Cousin David died out in Montana,” she explained. “The funeral was last Saturday.”
“That’s too bad,” remarked Penny sympathetically. And then she added: “Only you don’t look particularly sad, Mrs. Weems. How much did he leave you?”
“Penny! You say such shocking things! I never met Cousin David but once in my life. He was a kind, good man and I only wish I had written to him more often. I never dreamed he would remember me in his will.”