NINETEENFancy came into the room, her blue eyes very wide. They observed the Superintendent, and didn’t think much of him. Like Mrs. Mayhew, Miss Bell had no affection for a foxy man. The young man with the notebook at the end of the dining-table was better—quite nice looking in fact. She wondered, as she always wondered about any new young man, whether he could dance. Such a lot of nice boys couldn’t and the boys that could weren’t always the nice ones. With these simple thoughts in her mind she sat down in a chair which faced the window, thus affording both men an unshadowed view of her quite incredible complexion.
Constable Whitcombe was not unaffected. He gazed, at first in doubt, but later with heart-felt appreciation. If Superintendent Drake had any such feelings he concealed them p
