The Chief shook his head. “Not likely. Servants aren’t so well informed as all that, as a rule. No, the conclusion that’s just forced itself on me is that, unlikely as it may seem, the person or persons mixed up in this business belong to the same class of Society as the girls themselves.”
“But, good Lord, man—what—why——”
The Chief leaned forward suddenly, his jaw setting into flinty lines. “For example, what do you know about this Mrs. Furneau, who took your sister out to tea that day?”
I sat back and stared at him, my mind racing back to the night of Margaret’s disappearance. For an instant it fastened on the vague sense of resentment I had felt toward Mrs. Furneau for her part in the business. Then common sense prevailed.
“But what on earth could she have had to do with it? You don’t suppose she followed the child into the store? And how could she abduct her if she had? That was the most public of places,” I answered.
“Exactly,” said the Chief slowly; “if she ever went to the store at all!”
“But—but——”
“Did any one in the store actually see her? Did they remember and describe her?”
I shook my head. “But that doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m not trying to prove anything now. I’m trying to show you our line of deduction. But what do you know about the woman?”