“Any other theory is impossible. Mr. Webb is no weakling,—although hampered by his wounded knee. He would put up a stiff fight if he knew he was being stolen!”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, I told you I had all the facts of the case. I’m getting fancies now,—and I’ll admit yours are illuminating.”
“Go on,” Elsie said, “ask for more,—we’ll give ’em.”
“Nope. Got enough now. Next I want to see friend Allison.”
“Don’t let him know you suspect him,” Gerty begged. “He can’t be the one.”
“Leave me to judge of that. How can I see him?”
“He’ll probably be here soon,” Elsie said, “but as Gerty says, don’t suspect him,—it’s foolish.”
Coley glared at her, his blue eyes glinting with mock severity. “Don’t tell me whom to suspect, Miss Powell! I shall suspect everybody. Not omitting yourself, your mother, your sister,—or her babies! Now, will you be good?”
“Oh, if it’s merely a matter of universal suspicion, all right.”