Pete Gibby walked slowly back to Knollwood, thinking about Mr. Stevenson. He knew nothing of the man but what he had just seen for himself, but he was puzzled at his attitude.
On the face of things, it was all right for Stevenson to distrust the Swami, but to hesitate about saying so, since the Oriental was his wife’s friend.
But Gibby sensed more than that. There was something furtive about Stevenson’s manner that implied a deeper feeling about the whole matter than merely wife’s opinions.
“Oh, Lord,” groaned Gibby to himself, “I’m a fine detective, I am! Running off with all sorts of fool ideas that have no basis whatever. If I’m going to look into this case, and I certainly am, I must be at least methodical and logical about it. Emily is missing, mysteriously missing, and so is Polly
