He hasn't a car and nobody thought of
offering him a lift. Guess he took a bus into Hamilton.... Ah! Here's
Lydia!... Hello, Lydia!" he called heartily to the woman who was
standing, tall and gaunt, in the doorway. "Mighty glad you're coming to
look after the kids!"
From behind the black veil which draped her ugly black hat and hid her
scarred face, Lydia answered in the dull, harsh voice that was
characteristic of her:
"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."
She made no protest when Dundee, with a word of embarrassed apology,
went rapidly through the heavy suitcase she had brought up from the
basement with her. And when he had finished his fruitless search, she
knelt and silently smoothed the coarse, utilitarian garments he had
disarranged.
Five minutes later Dundee was alone in the house where murder had been
committed under such strange and baffling circumstances that afternoon.
He was not nervous, but again he made a tour of inspection of the first
floor and basement, looking into closets, and testing windows to make
sure they were all locked. Everywhere there were evidences of the
thoroughness of the police detectives who had searched for the weapon
with which Nita Selim had been murdered. In the basement, as he had
subconsciously noted on his headlong dash to question Lydia Carr, the
furnace doors swung open, and the lids of the laundry tubs had been left
propped up, after the unavailing search.
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