Then Allison came.
The others looked on curiously as Coley Cole made his first survey of the young Westerner.
Unsuspectingly, Joe stood the ordeal well. He looked his usual frank, good-natured self, and he greeted the detective with unconcealed interest.
“Miss Powell told me about you,” he said, “and I’m downright glad you’ve begun to look into this thing. It seemed to me nothing was being done. Not that it’s my business,—but I’m more or less mixed up in it, and I want to see the mystery cleared up.”
“When did you arrive in New York?” Coe asked him, with a straightforward glance.
“About a week after the disappearance of Mr. Webb. Why?”
“Merely getting information. You’ve no objection to giving it?”
“Not a bit. But if you’re suspecting me, say so, right out. I’d like it better.”
“I daresay you would, but we detectives don’t always ask suspects their preferences.”
Joe’s blank look of surprise at this speech was funny to see. He glared at Coe, and then under the influence of the shining eyes and the ridiculous hair, Allison laughed and said, “You’ll do! And so you don’t suspect me, after all? Why don’t you?”