This struck me as a mighty happy solution of everybody's troubles, but I felt it was too good to be true.
"Over a week ago," she went on, "my brother Edwin came up to New York to consult a book at the library. I anticipated that this would occupy perhaps an afternoon, and was expecting him back by an early train next day. He did not arrive. He sent an incoherent telegram. But even then I suspected nothing." She paused. "Yesterday morning," she said, "I had a letter from my aunt Augusta."
She paused again. She seemed to think I ought to be impressed.
Her eyes tied a bowknot in my spine.
"Let me read you her letter. No, I will tell you its contents. Aunt Augusta had seen Edwin lunching at the Waldorf with a creature."
"A what?"
"My aunt described her. Her hair was of a curious dull bronze tint."
"Your aunt's?"
"The woman's. It was then that I began to suspect. How many women with dull bronze hair does Edwin know?"
"Great Scott! Why ask me?"