You’re in danger, Susie told herself, leaning back comfortably in the Makers’ fine car.
She wanted to take this in a cool, intelligent way. She wanted to grasp the situation; to consider it quietly. But what she really felt was an excitement that was rather agreeable.
Now, look here! she told herself. There’s been a murder committed, and I was mixed up in it, in a way. There’s this Hobart Minck thing, and the two Mr. Chiswicks—a lot of very queer things. Mrs. Person wouldn’t have written me a note like that for nothing. This is serious.
But she did not, and could not feel serious. She felt almost violently alive in every inch of her tall young body. She felt able to cope with danger. Once I know who it is, she thought. Or what it is. Of course, I’ll be sensible. Not take any foolish ris
