Spotswoode smiled.
“You at least give me an historic background,” he said. Then he turned to Markham. “What will become of Miss Odell’s possessions—her furniture and so forth?”
“Sergeant Heath heard from an aunt of hers in Seattle,” Markham told him. “She’s on her way to New York, I believe, to take over what there is of the estate.”
“And everything will be kept intact until then?”
“Probably longer, unless something unexpected happens. Anyway, until then.”
“There are one or two little trinkets I’d like to keep,” Spotswoode confessed, a bit shamefacedly, I thought.
After a few more minutes of desultory talk he rose, and, pleading an engagement, bade us good afternoon.
“I hope I can keep his name clear of the case,” said Markham, when he had gone.
“Yes; his situation is not an enviable one,” concurred Vance. “It’s always sad to be found out. The moralist would set it down to retribution.”
“In this instance chance was certainly on the side of righteousness. If he hadn’t chosen Monday night for the Winter Garden, he might now be in the bosom of his family, with nothing more troublesome to bother him than a guilty conscience.”