“Ever see this before?” he said crisply, watching her face.
Lizzie read the note with bulging eyes, her face horror-stricken. When she had finished, she made a gesture of wild disclaimer that nearly removed a portion of Anderson’s left ear.
“Mercy on us!” she moaned, mentally invoking not only her patron saint but all the rosary of heaven to protect herself and her mistress.
But the detective still kept his eye on her.
“Didn’t write it yourself, did you?” he queried curtly.
“I did not!” said Lizzie angrily. “I did not!”
“And—you’re sure you don’t walk in your sleep?” The bare idea strained Lizzie’s nerves to the breaking point.
“When I get into bed in this house I wouldn’t put my feet out for a million dollars!” she said with heartfelt candor. Even Anderson was compelled to grin at this.
“Then I won’t ask you to,” he said, relaxing considerably; “That’s more money than I’m worth, Lizzie.”
“Well, I’ll say it is!” quoth Lizzie, now thoroughly aroused, and flounced out of the room in high dudgeon, her pompadour bristling, before he had time to interrogate her further.