Please
don't mind. I'm merely--desperate! You see, I happen to be
engaged to the cashier, Jack Bailey--"
Fleming whistled. "I see! And he's beat it!"
Dale blazed with indignation.
"He has not! I'm going to tell you something. He's here, now, in
this house--" she continued fierily, all her defenses thrown aside.
"My aunt thinks he's a new gardener. He is here, Mr. Fleming,
because he knows he didn't take the money, and the only person who
could have done it was--your uncle!"
Dick Fleming dropped his cigarette in a convenient ash tray and
crushed it out there, absently, not seeming to notice whether it
scorched his fingers or not. He rose and took a turn about the
room. Then he came back to Dale.
"That's a pretty strong indictment to bring against a dead man," he
said slowly, seriously.
"It's true!" Dale insisted stubbornly, giving him glance for glance.
Fleming nodded. "All right."
He smiled--a smile that Dale didn't like.
"Suppose it's true--where do I come in?" he said. "You don't
think I know where the money is?"
"No," admitted Dale, "but I think you might help to find it."
She went swiftly over to the hall door and listened tensely for an
instant. Then she came back to Fleming.
"If anybody comes in--you've just come to get something of yours,"
she said in a low voice. He nodded understandingly. She dropped
her voice still lower.
"Do you know anything about a Hidden Room in this house?" she asked.
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