Pitman!" he said. "What's the matter?"
I got myself in hand in a moment and smiled at the girl.
"Nothing at all," I said. "Indigestion, most likely. Too much tea the
last day or two, and not enough solid food. I've been too anxious to
eat."
Lida--for she was that to me at once, although I had never seen her
before--Lida was all sympathy and sweetness. She actually asked me to
go with her to a restaurant and have a real dinner. I could imagine
Alma, had she known! But I excused myself.
"I have to cook something for Mr. Reynolds," I said, "and I'm better
now, anyhow, thank you. Mr. Howell, may I speak to you for a moment?"
He followed me along the back hall, which was dusk.
"I have remembered something that I had forgotten, Mr. Howell," I
said. "On Sunday morning, the Ladleys had a visitor."
"Yes?"
"They had very few visitors."
"I see."
"I did not see him, but--I heard his voice." Mr. Howell did not move,
but I fancied he drew his breath in quickly. "It sounded--it was not
by any chance _you_?"
"I? A newspaper man, who goes to bed at three A.
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