"Now I suppose I _have_ put my foot
in it! You've got the damnedest way of making a chap tell everything he
would cut his tongue out rather than spill, Dundee! But just because a
young man's in love, and happens not to show up at a party, is no reason
to think he sneaked up to the house and killed the woman he loved and
wanted to marry. For I'm not so dumb that I haven't seen the drift of
your damnable questions, Dundee!... Do you know Ralph Hammond, by any
chance?" he concluded, his round face red with anger.
"No--but I should like to meet him," Dundee retorted. "He seems quite
hard to locate this evening."
"Well, when you do meet him," Tracey Miles began violently, his blue
eyes blazing with anger, "you'll soon find you've been barking up the
wrong tree! There's not a cleaner, finer, straighter--"
"In fact, he is a friend of yours, Miles," Dundee answered soothingly,
"and I respect you for every word you've said.... By the way, did all of
you go to the Country Club for dinner after you left here?"
Somewhat mollified, Miles answered: "All of us but Clive Hammond. He
said he was going to have a look around for Ralph himself. Seemed to
have an idea where he might find him.... And, oh, yes, Sprague
disappeared in the scramble.
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