“Hold on, she may have been here and all that,” John broke in with rough vehemence, “but some one else may have killed Austin even in her presence—”
“Then why has she not told the police?” John remained silent, and his brother continued speaking. “I hoped Polly would brave it out here, and to reduce her anxieties—for I know how pushed she is for money—I increased her salary and held my tongue.”
John stared at him long and intently before again addressing him.
“Why have you kept silent and not informed the police of your suspicions?” he asked, curiously. “Charity is not usually one of your virtues.”
“Austin deserved what he got,” Hale answered slowly. “And—I was always fond of a sporting chance. Therefore, John, find Polly and I will aid you to finance a trip to a country where extradition is not enforced.”
John’s face flamed scarlet. Slowly his color ebbed and his hands unclenched, and when he spoke his voice was low and measured.
“Where am I to find Polly?”
Hale took a letter from his desk. “Polly writes that she is called out of town and, not knowing the date of her return, fears that she will be unable to continue as my secretary, and with every good wish, begs to remain faithfully mine.” Hale shrugged his shoulders by way of comment, and added: “The letter is dated this morning, has no street address on it, and was sent to my club. See for yourself,” and he tossed the letter to him.
John read the familiar writing several times, then folding the sheet, tucked it in his pocket and rose.
“Is there anything else you wish to see me about?” he asked.