“I should think,” said the banker, as he folded up the letter, after reading it, “that Mr. Carter would devote his energies rather to finding out who killed Mrs. Constant than to finding out who poisoned her dogs.”
“Oh, Mrs. Constant is all right,” replied Patsy. “She wasn’t killed.”
“Not killed?” replied the banker. “The papers said so.”
“All a mistake,” said Patsy. “Mrs. Constant is well, though she ain’t happy, for the reason that it was her sister who was killed.”
“That beautiful girl!” exclaimed the banker, eager to know all that Patsy could tell him.
Though the lad was anxious to get to work, he was compelled to delay while he satisfied the banker’s curiosity.
When he was finally released, which he was with full authority to go to all parts of the huge building, he hurried out into the space where the dogs were benched.
As fond as he was of the animals, however, he paid little attention to them, for he was anxious to make himself acquainted with the attendants.
It was the last day of the show, and the attendance, especially at that hour in the afternoon when Patsy reached the building, was very large.
If thereby movement about the building was made difficult, it was all the better for Patsy, for he was less likely to be recognized.