“My father must have placed it there—in the book,” she said, removing her hand.
“It was in a Bible,” he said. She smiled.
“I suppose he decided it was safe there, because nobody ever would open it.” They both smiled at that.
“My father was a peculiar man,” she explained. “He was always afraid of banks—would not trust them. So he left his money in all sorts of peculiar places. Why, when he died we never could find—but there, I must not trouble you with my private affairs.”
“Yes, but you must, Miss Pomeroy. If I can be of any assistance to you, why⸺”
The troubled look came into her eyes again as she shook her head. “I’m afraid nobody can help me after what—after⸺”
“You mean after what happened to Masterson yesterday?” he inquired. She nodded.
“You see, it’s something horrible, something I can’t talk about⸺”
“You know who did it?” he queried.
She nodded her head slowly. “I think I can guess,” she said. “But⸺”
“Well, if it troubles you like that, don’t tell me. But I would like to be of assistance, I assure you, Miss Pomeroy⸺”
A sudden fear came into her face again, a ghost of terror that slipped across her face like a mask.
“Oh, I had forgotten!” she gasped. “You must go, Mr. Morley. You mustn’t stay here. I am expecting some one⸺”
“But can’t I see you again?” he persisted boldly, though his heart was beating absurdly in anticipation of her answer. Suppose she should say no!
