My word, it begins to look a
trifle spicy. It also begins to look like a case that ought to be
dropped before it gets too hot. I guess it's up to me to see my
dear old Uncle Charlie What's-His-Name."
Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan set off in the wake of the girl who had
employed him to catch the masked invader.
CHAPTER XIX
BRINGING UP THE PAST
Charlie Webster wore a troubled expression when he appeared for dinner
that same evening. He was late. If such a thing were believable,
his kindly blue eyes glittered malevolently as they rested upon
the face of Courtney Thane, who had taken his place at table a few
minutes earlier. The fat little man was strangely preoccupied. He
was even gruff in his response to Mr. Pollock's bland inquiry as
to the state of his health.
"How's your liver, Charlie?" inquired the genial editor. This amiable
question was habitual with Mr. Pollock. He varied it a little when
the object of his polite concern happened to be of the opposite
sex; then he gallantly substituted the word "appetite." It was never
necessary to reply to Mr. Pollock's question. In fact, he always
seemed a little surprised when any one did reply, quite as if he had
missed a portion of the conversation and was trying in a bewildered
sort of way to get the hang of it again.
"Same as it was yesterday," said Charlie. "I don't want any soup,
Maggie.
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