"
If looks could slay, his characterization of Lizzie would have laid
him dead at her feet at that instant. Miss Van Gorder considered
his theory.
"I wonder," she said.
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.
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