“I don’t know. But, Miss Webb, are you sure the Marsden St. Johns had nothing to do with the kidnapping?”
“Of course they didn’t! They were away, and aside from that the thing is preposterous! Why, we scarcely know them, and moreover, they’re the quietest, most reserved people. That’s why we like them.
“Steal Kimball! They’d be more likely to protect him! But I tell you they were not at home then.”
“Let me go through,” and Miss Webb looked at the open way.
“Certainly, the people are not home,—come along,” Coe agreed.
“Why, Henrietta,” cried her mother, “I don’t think you ought to.”
But curiosity triumphed, and soon all three stood in the room in the next door house.
“What awful housekeeping!” Mrs. Webb cried, and her daughter’s expression of distaste spoke volumes.
Coley Coe stood smiling to himself, at the way the aristocratic ladies descended to the vulgar depths of prying. They peered into cupboards and bureau drawers until he was positively shocked.
But it brought about a strange result.