CHAPTER FIFTEENThe Wrong Crime
Morning sunlight was finding its way through the leaden panes of the northeast window in the Austen library; Gamadge, having arrived by appointment, was sent in unannounced by a Norah whose face had sagged into what looked like permanent lines of chagrin. He stood at the doorway looking at Rena and Mr. Dabney, who sat at the centre table over lists.
Rena saw him, got up and came to him, reached her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“My orphan.” Gamadge returned to the table with her, arm in arm. Mr. Dabney smiled in approbation.
“This is Mr. Gamadge, Mr. Dabney. He—”
“I know.” They shook hands.
“Literature brought the young person and myself together,” said Gamadge. “Books, if not literature, unite us still.” He laid a flat package on the table and b
