He picked up a piece
of glass and examined it.
Dale cleared her throat. "It was broken from the outside a few
minutes ago," she said.
"The outside?" Instantly the detective had pulled aside a blind and
was staring out into the darkness.
"Yes. And then that letter was thrown in." She pointed to the
threatening missive on the center table.
Anderson picked it up, glanced through it, laid it down. All his
movements were quick and sure--each executed with the minimum
expense of effort.
"H'm," he said in a calm voice that held a glint of humor. "Curious,
the anonymous letter complex! Apparently someone considers you an
undesirable tenant!"
Miss Cornelia took up the tale.
"There are some things I haven't told you yet," she said. "This
house belonged to the late Courtleigh Fleming." He glanced at her
sharply.
"The Union Bank?"
"Yes. I rented it for the summer and moved in last Monday. We have
not had a really quiet night since I came. The very first night I
saw a man with an electric flashlight making his way through the
shrubbery!"
"You poor dear!" from Dale sympathetically. "And you were here
alone!"
"Well, I had Lizzie. And," said Miss Cornelia with enormous
importance, opening the drawer of the center table, "I had my
revolver. I know so little about these things, Mr. Anderson, that
if I didn't hit a burglar, I knew I'd hit somebody or something!"
and she gazed with innocent awe directly down the muzzle of her
beloved weapon, then waved it with an airy gesture beneath the
detective's nose.
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