He strode to the
closet, searched for a moment among the multitude of garments hanging
there, then emerged with the brown silk summer coat which Nita Selim had
worn to Breakaway Inn that noon. Before the terrified woman's eyes he
thrust a hand first into one deep pocket and then another, finding
nothing except a handkerchief of fine embroidered linen and a pair of
brown suede gauntlet gloves.
"Will you let me have the note, please, Mrs. Miles? The note Nita
received during her luncheon party, and which she thrust, before your
eyes, into a pocket of this coat?... It is in your handbag, I am sure,
since you have had no opportunity, unobserved, to destroy it."
"What ghastly nonsense is this, Dundee?" Tracey Miles demanded
furiously.
But Dundee again ignored him. His implacable eyes held Flora Miles'
until the woman broke suddenly, piteously. She fumbled in the raffia bag
which had been hanging from her arm.
"Good God, Flora! What does it all mean?" Tracey Miles collapsed like a
pricked pink balloon. "That's _my_ stationery--one of my business
envelopes--"
Flora Miles dropped the bag which she need no longer watch and clutch
with terror, as she dug her thin fingers into her husband's shoulders
and looked down at his puzzled face, for she was a little taller than
he.
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