“Thank you,” she said, more seriously, and then they got out at her home.
“Oscar,” she stopped to speak to the chauffeur, “you went into Mr. Webb’s room first this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am; me and Hollis.”
“Did you notice anything,—anything at all, that seemed queer or strange?”
“No, ma’am; except for Mr. Kimball’s absence and the fact that his clothes were gone,—all of which you know about; there was nothing else strange.”
“I didn’t suppose there was anything, but I wanted to make sure,” and Elsie sighed.
“Yes’m; indeed, I wish I could help you, miss. There was a bit of a smell of bananas,—but I don’t suppose that would mean anything?”
“No,” and Elsie smiled in spite of her misery.
Whiting followed her into the house. He assumed a protective air which she did not resent; it was good to have somebody to rely on.
Elsie lost no time in perfecting her plans.