“This was no tired business man,” interrupted Landis with a smile. “It was rather a ragged old fellow, I believe.”
“Ragged? Someone did try to telephone me—?”
From surprise her eyes widened to swift alarm.
“Goodness, it might have been my father!” she cried.
“What is his name and where does he live?”
“His name is Hiram Cuddy and he lives on a farm on Long Island, near Great Neck. But I don’t think he could have telephoned me! I don’t think he knows where I am!”
“You live in town, don’t you? Couldn’t he learn it from a servant at your home?”
“I—I don’t think he knows my address at all!”
Both detectives looked puzzled—and receptive.
Ethel Graham spread her small hands in a gesture individual and rather endearing.