“Not coming here now, not at once, is he?” she demanded, in rapid whispers.
“Do you think I’m daffy, to be here, in that case?” growled Sandy.
“Yet——”
“No, no; there’s time enough, Vic,” he interrupted. “He’s not coming till two o’clock.”
“For what?”
“To ask you to go with him to the scene of the fake hold-up.”
“That of the photograph?” gasped Vic, with hands pressed to her breast and her white face drawn with increasing apprehension.
“That’s what he said.”
“Has he detected something queer in that picture?”
“I reckon he has, Vic.”