"You--you are a detective?" she queried. "You can read mystery--
like a book?"
Kennedy smiled encouragingly. "Hardly as my friend Walter here
often paints me," he returned. "Still, now and then, we are able
to use the vast knowledge of wise men the world over to help those
in trouble. Tell me--everything," he soothed, as though knowing
that to talk would prove a safety-valve for her pent-up emotions.
"Perhaps I can help you."
For a moment she did not know what to do. Then, almost before she
knew it, apparently, she began to talk to him, forgetting that we
were in the room.
"Tell me how the thing happened, all that you know, how you found
it out," prompted Craig.
"Oh, it was midnight, last night; yes, late," she returned wildly.
"I was sleeping when my maid, Juanita, wakened me and told me that
Mr. Lockwood was in the living room and wanted to see me, must see
me. I dressed hurriedly, for it came to me that something must be
the matter. I think I must have come out sooner than they
expected, for before they knew it I had run across the living room
and looked through the door into the den, you call it, over
there."
She pointed at a heavy door, but did not, evidently could not, let
her eyes rest on it.
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