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

"The Black Box"


"I am making a few enquiries in that direction," he announced. "I expect
to have something to report very shortly."
The Professor stood drawing on his gloves. The vague look of trouble still
lingered in his face.
"Tell me again," he begged, "the name of the avenue in which this
residence is situated?"
"Gayson Avenue," the inspector replied. "It's a bit out of the way, but
it's not a bad neighbourhood."
The Professor repeated the address to himself softly. For a moment he
stood quite still. His manner showed signs of growing anxiety. He seemed
to be trying to remember something.
"The name," he admitted finally, as they moved towards the door, "suggests
to me, I must confess--We are going to see the house, Inspector?"
"We are on our way there now, sir--that is, if the young ladies are
willing?" he added, glancing at Laura.
"We've been waiting here with our hats on for the last half-hour," Laura
replied promptly. "You've stretched your ten minutes out some, Mr.
French."
The Inspector manoeuvred to let the others pass on, and descended the
stairs by Laura's side.
"Couldn't help it," he confided, lowering his tone a little. "Had some
information come in about that house I couldn't quite size up. You're
looking well this morning, Miss Laura."
"Say, who are you guying!" she replied.
"I mean it," the Inspector persisted. "That hat seems to suit you."
Laura laughed at the top of her voice.
"Say, kid," she exclaimed to Lenora, "the Inspector here's setting up as a
judge of millinery!"
Lenora turned and looked at them both with an air of blank astonishment.


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