CHAPTER VIII
TOO LATE
AT nine o’clock that night things remained about the same. The man Hunter had sent to investigate the neighborhood and the country just outside of the town, came to the house about eight, and reported “nothing discovered.” Miss Letitia went to bed early, and Margery took her upstairs.
Hunter called me by telephone from town.
“Can you take the nine-thirty up?” he asked. I looked at my watch.
“Yes, I think so. Is there anything new?”
“Not yet; there may be. Take a cab at the station and come to the corner of Mulberry Street and Park Lane. You’d better dismiss your cab there and wait for me.”
I sent word upstairs by Bella, who was sitting in the kitchen, her heavy face sodden with grief, and taking my hat and raincoat—it was raining a light spring drizzle—I hur
