The detective rubbed his hands together more cheerfully.
“A good night’s sleep and—” he began, but the irrepressible Lizzie interrupted him.
“My God, we’re not going to bed, are we?” she said, with her eyes as big as saucers.
He gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder, which she obviously resented.
“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he said. “Lock your door and say your prayers, and leave the rest to me.”
Lizzie muttered something inaudible and rebellious, but now Miss Cornelia added her protestations to his.
“That’s very good advice,” she said decisively. “You take her, Dale.”
Reluctantly, with a dragging of feet and scared glances cast back over her shoulder, Lizzie allowed herself to be drawn toward the door and the main staircase by Dale. But she did not depart without one Parthian shot.
“I’m not going to bed!” she wailed as Dale’s strong young arm helped her out into the hall. “Do you think I want to wake up in the morning with my throat cut?” Then the creaking of the stairs, and Dale’s soothing voice reassuring her as she painfully clambered toward the third floor, announced that Lizzie, for some time at least, had been removed as an active factor from the puzzling equation of Cedarcrest.
Anderson confronted Miss Cornelia with certain relief.