Good luck and success in your music. God bless you, and good-bye.
Your devoted father.
"What's the game?" repeated Morgan, when he saw that Marsh had finished reading the letter.
"A convenient disappearance, that is all," returned Marsh. "Things were beginning to get too hot for him. No doubt he thought you were getting closer than you really were. Poor girl," he added. "She will take it as gospel truth, and we dare not tell her otherwise—not now, anyway."
"One thing is certain in my mind now," asserted Morgan. "There was a murder upstairs. They planned to put some person who was becoming a menace, quietly out of the way. But you spoiled it!"
"No, I did not spoil it," said Marsh. "The shot did that. I have felt for some time that that shot was a mistake—a slipup somewhere."
"I've got to go; it is two o'clock," exclaimed Morgan as he looked at his watch. "Where shall we hold future conferences! I do not want to be seen coming here too often. It might lead to suspicions of you, and I think we can accomplish more if your connection with the case is not made clear."
"How about your house?" inquired Marsh. "Knowing that you are now suspicious, and with Tierney on the doorstep, they will probably keep away from there in the future."
"Well, let it stand at that for the present," agreed Morgan. "Telephone me when you want to come. My number is in the telephone book."
With that the two men's hands met in a strong grip as if to seal their future partnership. Morgan opened the door and then started back with a cry.