"I'm going out, Auntie," she said with an attempted gaiety. "And,"
she added, "if anyone should ask for me, I'll be there."
She had showed her a card on which was engraved, the name and
address of Florence Leigh.
"All right, dear," answered Aunt Josephine, not quite clear in her
mind what subtle change there was in Elaine.
. . . . . . . .
Half an hour later I was waiting near the house in the suburbs to
which I had been directed by the strange telephone call the day
before. I noticed that it was apparently deserted. The blinds were
closed and a "To Let" sign was on the side of the house.
"Hello, Walter," cried Craig at last, bustling along. He stopped a
moment to look at the house. Then, together, we went up the steps
and we rang the bell, gazing about.
"Strange," muttered Craig. "The house looks deserted."
He pointed out the sign and the generally unoccupied look of the
place. Nor was there any answer to our ring. Kennedy paused only a
second, in thought.
"Come on, Walter," he said with a sudden decision. "We've got to
get in here somehow."
He led the way around the side of the house to a window, and with
a powerful grasp, wrenched open the closed shutters. He had just
smashed the window viciously with his foot when a policeman
appeared.
"Hey, you fellows--what are you doing there?" he shouted.
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