Who knows? I have a
suspicion that the thing I'm going to do is the highest form of
your so-called ethics. If what Fletcher tells us is true that
girl is going insane over this thing. Why should she be so
shocked over the death of an uncle she did not live with? I tell
you she knows something about this case that it is necessary for
us to know, too. If she doesn't tell someone, it will eat her
mind out. I'll add a dinner to the box of cigars we have already
bet on this case that what I'm going to do is for the best--for
her best."
Again I yielded, for I was coming to have more and more faith in
the old Kennedy I had seen made over into a first-class
detective, and together we started for the Greenes', Craig
carrying something in one of those long black handbags which
physicians use.
Fletcher met us on the driveway. He seemed to be very much
affected, for his face was drawn, and he shifted from one
position to another nervously, from which we inferred that Miss
Bond was feeling worse. It was late afternoon, almost verging on
twilight, as he led us through the reception-hall and thence onto
a long porch overlooking the bay and redolent with honeysuckle.
Miss Bond was half reclining in a wicker chair us we entered. She
started to rise to greet us, but Fletcher gently restrained her,
saying, as he introduced us, that he guessed the doctors would
pardon any informality from an invalid.
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