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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"

"I made 'em just before you came in,"
he explained. David passed his hand across his brow. Then he accepted
one of the glasses from the pseudo host.
"Do you mean to tell me that you were in this room all the time I sat
over there waiting--"
Dick put his finger to his lips. "Sh! Not so loud, please. I'm not
really supposed to be here, you know. Just think what heart disease
would do to the wooly old boy that runs the front door if he heard you
talking to me at this time o' night. I'm glad to see you, David. You
got my letter, I see. Well, well, it's wonderful what a two-cent
stamp'll do sometimes. A postage stamp is the greatest detective I
know of. I've had 'em find me time and again, right off the real, when
twenty plain-clothes men couldn't get a smell of me to save their
souls. Sit down, David. Make yourself at home. It's good to see you
here, old chap. I'm sorry you must be leaving so soon."
"Leaving so soon?"
"Yep. You're going away to-morrow." He was sitting now, with his long
legs crossed, leaning lazily back in the lounging chair at the end of
David's desk.
"Don't talk in riddles, Dick.


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