Do you?"
"I know one who does," I said, smiling. But she sat up in bed suddenly
and looked at me with her clear childish eyes.
"I don't want him to like me!" she flashed. "I--I want him to hate
me."
"Tut, tut! You want nothing of the sort."
"Mrs. Pitman," she said, "I sent for you because I'm nearly crazy. Mr.
Howell was a friend of that woman. He has acted like a maniac since
she disappeared. He doesn't come to see me, he has given up his work
on the paper, and I saw him to-day on the street--he looks like a
ghost."
That put me to thinking.
"He might have been a friend," I admitted. "Although, as far as I
know, he was never at the house but once, and then he saw both of
them."
"When was that?"
"Sunday morning, the day before she disappeared. They were arguing
something."
She was looking at me attentively. "You know more than you are telling
me, Mrs. Pitman," she said. "You--do you think Jennie Brice is dead,
and that Mr. Howell knows--who did it?"
"I think she is dead, and I think possibly Mr. Howell suspects who did
it.
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