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

"The Black Box"

Look
here, it sums up like this. How do you feel about quitting this bunch
right away and coming back to New York with me?"
"What do I want to go to New York for?" Laura demanded.
"Oh, come on, Miss Laura, you know what I mean," French replied. "We'll
slip off and get married here and then take this man Craig to New York.
Once get him safely in the Tombs and we'll go off on a honeymoon anywhere
you say."
Laura was on the point of laughing at him. Then the unwonted seriousness
of his expression appealed suddenly to her sympathy. She patted him kindly
on the shoulder.
"You're a good sort, Inspector, but you've picked the wrong girl. I've run
along on my own hook ever since I was born, I guess, and I can't switch my
ideas over to this married stuff. You'd better get a move on and get Craig
back to New York before he slips us again. I'm going to stay here with the
others."
The Inspector sighed. His face had grown long, and the buoyancy had passed
from his manner.
"This is some disappointment, believe me, Miss Laura," he confessed.
"Cheer up," she laughed. "You'll get over it all right."
They found the others waiting for them at the end of the great wooden
shed. Quest turned to French.
"Look here, French," he said, "you know I don't want to hurry you off, but
I don't know what we're going to do with this fellow about in San
Francisco. We don't want to lodge two charges, and we should have to put
him in jail to-night. Why don't you take him on right away? There's a
Limited goes by the southern route in an hour's time.


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