‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands.
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