"
Keith sniffed the air. "Wallie is going to ring the dinner bell within
half an hour. Why not slip on a raincoat and join me up here? I think
it's going to be pretty good."
"I'll come," said McDowell. "Expect me any moment."
Fifteen minutes later Keith was helping him off with his wet slicker.
He had expected McDowell to make some observation on the cheerfulness
of the birch fire and the agreeable aromas that were leaking from
Wallie's kitchen, but the inspector disappointed him. He stood for a
few moments with his back to the fire, thumbing down the tobacco in his
pipe, and he made no effort to conceal the fact that there was
something in his mind more important than dinner and the cheer of a
grate.
His eyes fell on the telephone, and he nodded toward it. "Seemed very
anxious to see you, didn't she, Conniston? I mean Miss Kirkstone."
"Rather."
McDowell seated himself and lighted a match. "Seemed--a
little--nervous--perhaps," he suggested between puffs. "As though
something had happened--or was going to happen. Don't mind my
questioning you, do you, Derry?"
"Not a bit," said Keith. "You see, I thought perhaps you might
explain--"
There was a disquieting gleam in McDowell's eyes.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82