"Always at night, in the car." His reply was prompt and certain.
"This is all you found?" queried the detective, a curious note
in his voice.
"Yes." Beresford sat down, relieved. Miss Cornelia followed his
example. Another clue had led into a blind alley, leaving the
mystery of the night's affairs as impenetrable as ever.
"Some day I hope to meet the real estate agent who promised me that
I would sleep here as I never slept before!" she murmured acridly.
"He's right! I've slept with my clothes on every night since I came!"
As she ended, Billy darted in from the hall, his beady little black
eyes gleaming with excitement, a long, wicked-looking butcher knife
in his hand.
"Key, kitchen door, please!" he said, addressing his mistress.
"Key?" said Miss Cornelia, startled. "What for?"
For once Billy's polite little grin was absent from his countenance.
"Somebody outside trying to get in," he chattered. "I see knob turn,
so," he illustrated with the butcher knife, "and so--three times."
The detective's hand went at once to his revolver.
"You're sure of that, are you?" he said roughly to Billy.
"Sure, I sure!"
"Where's that hysterical woman Lizzie?" queried Anderson. "She may
get a bullet in her if she's not careful."
"She see too. She shut in closet--say prayers, maybe," said Billy,
without a smile.
The picture was a ludicrous one but not one of the little group
laughed.
"Doctor, have you a revolver?" Anderson seemed to be going over
the possible means of defense against this new peril.
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