“Your father, Mrs. Brewster—”
“Of course,” murmured Barbara. “Go on, Harry.”
“Detective Ferguson and Ben Clymer,” Barbara made a wry face, “and”—went on Kent, not heeding her, “each of these persons deny any further knowledge of the envelope, except they declare it was lying on the table when we all made a dash for the dining room.
“Who was the last to leave the porch?” asked Helen.
“Ben Clymer.”
“And he saw no one take the envelope?”
“He declares that he had his back to the table, part of the time, but to the best of his knowledge no one took the envelope.”
“One of them must have,” insisted Barbara.
“The envelope hadn't legs or wings.”
“One of them did take it,” agreed Kent.