Bill nodded, remembering the speed with which Sanders and his man had disappeared. “Just where and how does it connect with the hall?”
“There’s a sliding panel in the wall by the fireplace.”
“Humph! You and Sanders,” said Bill, “seem to know a lot more about this place than I do.”
“Mr. Evans put me hep. How Sanders got his information, I don’t know, but he’s evidently got it all down pat. That old brick shed out there takes some finding. It’s all overgrown with vines and bushes—I had a job finding it myself.”
“But tell me, Osceola—” Bill perched on the edge of the table, “how did you happen to be telephoning in here—how did you get here? I must get straightened out on this business before I hike over to see Parker at Twin Heads Harbor tonight.”
“Parker flew me up to Clayton from New Canaan,” the chief told him. “Then he drove me over here in his car—or that is, I left him where the road to Turner’s leaves the Harbor Highway, and came the rest of the way on foot.”
“Please start at the beginning, won’t you? I’m still all at sea—”
“All right, all right—don’t get all het up now! Well, Deborah Lightfoot, the girl I’m engaged to—”
“What! Not the girl on the island—Evans’ secretary?”
“She’s the girl—”