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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Black Box"

Through a chink in the
curtain she could see that he was stooping down, collecting some letters.
She stole out, ran down the hall, opened the front door and hastened down
the avenue. Her heart was beating quickly. The front door handle had
slipped from her fingers, and it seemed to her that she could hear even
now the slam with which it had swung to. At the gates she looked back.
There were no signs of life. The house still bore its customary
appearance, gloomy and deserted. With a sigh of relief, she hailed a
taxicab and sank back into the corner.
She found Laura waiting for her, and a few minutes afterwards the two
girls were examining the ashes with the aid of Quest's microscope. Among
the little pile was one fragment at the sight of which they both
exclaimed. It was distinctly a shred of charred muslin embroidery. Lenora
pointed towards it triumphantly.
"Isn't that evidence?" she demanded. "Let's ring up Inspector French!"
Laura shook her head doubtfully.
"Not so fast," she advised. "French is a good sort in his way, but he's
prejudiced just now against the boss. I'm not sure that this evidence
would go far by itself."
"It's evidence enough for us to go for Craig, though! What we have got to
do is to get a confession out of him, somehow!"
Laura studied her companion, for a moment, curiously.
"Taking some interest in Mr. Quest, kid, ain't you?"
Lenora looked up. Then her head suddenly sank into her hands. She knew
quite well that her secret had escaped her.


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