“Oh!”
Dora gazed at the detective. She picked up the glass of wine and commenced to sip the amber-colored liquid.
Carter was silent, but he watched her closely.
“Mr. Carter,” Dora said, as she set down the glass, “I will tell you everything I know about that man.”
“I thank you,” the detective rejoined.
“I hate him.”
Her eyes flashed. The hot blood mantled her brow, and she hissed out the words between her clenched teeth.
Now the detective saw that she was in earnest. He knew that she did hate Dick Darwin, and no power could make her become friendly with him again.
“How long have you been acquainted with him?” Carter asked, after a short silence.
“About three years,” Dora answered.