"
Miss Cornelia put her knitting away and rose. She still clung
tenaciously to her own theories but her belief in them had been
badly shaken.
"If you'll come with me, I'll show you to your room," she said a
little stiffly. The detective stepped back to let her pass.
"Sorry to spoil your little theory," he said, and followed her to
the door. If either had noticed the unobtrusive listener to their
conversation, neither made a sign.
The moment the door had closed on them Dale sprang into action.
She seemed a different girl from the one who had left the room so
inconspicuously such a short time before. There were two bright
spots of color in her cheeks and she was obviously laboring under
great excitement. She went quickly to the alcove doors--they
opened softly--disclosing the young man who had said that he was
Brooks the new gardener--and yet not the same young man--for his
assumed air of servitude had dropped from him like a cloak,
revealing him as a young fellow at least of the same general social
class as Dale's if not a fellow-inhabitant of the select circle
where Van Gorders revolved about Van Gorders, and a man's
great-grandfather was more important than the man himself.
Dale cautioned him with a warning finger as he advanced into the
room.
"Sh! Sh!" she whispered. "Be careful! That man's a detective!"
Brooks gave a hunted glance at the door into the hall.
"Then they've traced me here," he said in a dejected voice.
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