“Au revoir, then,” he said, and was gone.
Somewhat to her surprise and uneasiness, Sylvia Graham experienced a distinct satisfaction when, late that afternoon, she beheld her unconventional acquaintance mounting the steps with a buoyant and assured step. Upon being admitted, he went promptly to the point.
“I’ve got it.”
“Your justification for coming back?” she asked.
“Exactly. Have you heard anything of some trouble in which judge Ackroyd was involved last week?”
“Uncle has a very violent temper,” admitted the girl evasively. “But I don’t see what—”
“Pardon me. You will see. That row was with a drug clerk.”
“In an obscure drug store several blocks from here.”
“Yes.”
“The drug clerk insisted—as the law requires—on judge Ackroyd registering for a certain purchase.”