“Still think I wasn’t irresponsible—moonstruck—nothing of the kind?”
“No—Mr. Roberts.”
“Wait. After the force had gone, still staring, the old man went back to his desk. He looked up a number in the telephone directory. ‘Mr. Herbert? Roberts, Darley Roberts.—I’d like to see you personally. Yes, at once. I’m waiting.’”
Again the girl glanced up; something made her. And again she encountered those same eyes smiling out of a masked face.
“The old man waited; ten minutes maybe. He didn’t do a thing; just waited. Then events came to pass.” Once more the little throaty laugh. “‘Mr. Herbert,’ he said, ‘your house you advertise for sale. How much this morning?’
“Mr. Herbert seemed surprised, distinctly surprised. He was only half through the door at the time.
“‘Eighteen thousand dollars. It cost twenty,’—after he’s caught his breath.
“‘It cost you fifteen even. I’ve been to some trouble to find out.’ 171
“‘You can’t know the place, Mr.—Mr. Roberts.’
“‘Yes. Top of the hill. Faces east and north. Terra cotta, brick. For reasons you know best it’s been vacant for a month now.’