“Couldn’t she?” queried Miss Cornelia pityingly. “The detective thinks she could—to save you!”
Now the full light of revelation broke upon Bailey. He took a step back.
“Good God!” he said.
Miss Cornelia would have liked to comment tartly upon the singular lack of intelligence displayed by even the nicest young men in trying circumstances. But there was no time. They might be interrupted at any moment and before they were, there were things she must find out.
“Where is that paper, now?” she asked Dale sharply;
“Why—the Doctor is getting it for me.” Dale seemed puzzled by the intensity of her aunt’s manner.
“What?” almost shouted Miss Cornelia. Dale explained.
“It was on the tray Billy took out,” she said, still wondering why so simple an answer should disturb Miss Cornelia so greatly.
“Then I’m afraid everything’s over,” Miss Cornelia said despairingly, and made her first gesture of defeat. She turned away. Dale followed her, still unable to fathom her course of reasoning.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said rather plaintively, wondering if again, as with Fleming, she had misplaced her confidence at a moment critical for them all.