The detective's
face altered, grew menacing. Miss Cornelia once more had put
herself between him and Dale.
"Now, Mr. Anderson--" she warned.
The detective was obviously trying to keep his temper.
"I'm not hounding this girl!" he said doggedly. "I haven't said
yet that she committed the murder--but she took that blue-print and
I want it!"
"You want it to connect her with the murder," parried Miss Cornelia.
The detective threw up his hands.
"It's rather reasonable to suppose that I might want to return the
funds to the Union Bank, isn't it?" he queried in tones of heavy
sarcasm. "Provided they're here," he added doubtfully.
Miss Cornelia resolved upon comparative frankness.
"I see," she said. "Well, I'll tell you this much, Mr. Anderson,
and I'll ask you to believe me as a lady. Granting that at one
time my niece knew something of that blue-print--at this moment
we do not know where it is or who has it."
Her words had the unmistakable ring of truth. The very oath from
the detective that succeeded them showed his recognition of the
fact.
"Damnation," he muttered. "That's true, is it?"
"That's true," said Miss Cornelia firmly. A silence of troubled
thoughts fell upon the three. Miss Cornelia took out her knitting.
"Did you ever try knitting when you wanted to think?" she queried
sweetly, after a pause in which the detective tramped from one side
of the room to the other, brows knotted, eyes bent on the floor.
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