“Looks that way,” said Florence. “And I guess that’s a clear enough case against her, if our Shakespeare one isn’t. You’ll tell Frank Morrow and he’ll have her arrested, of course.”
“I—I don’t know,” hesitated Lucile. “I’m really no surer that that’s the thing to do than I was before. There is something so very strange about it all.”
The book fell open in her hand. The inside of the front cover was exposed to view. The gargoyle in the corner stared up at her.
“It’s the gargoyle!” she exclaimed. “Why always the gargoyle? And how could a child with a face like hers consciously commit a theft?”
For a time they sat silently staring at the gargoyle. At last Lucile spoke.
“I think I’ll go and talk with Frank Morrow.”
“Will you tell him all about it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Florence looked puzzled.
“Are you going to take the book?”