eBooks Base 2000

"No; not that. Listen: I am a newspaperwoman, a special writer on the
New York _Star_." She paused, her cheeks flushing with nervousness.
"It--it was very strange that I met you first of all, for--for it seems
that the case is of personal interest to you."
"To me! Why, that is hardly likely, if it originated in New York."
"It did"--she drew in a sharp breath--"for it originated in the murder
of Frederick Cavendish."
"The murder of Cavendish! He has been killed?"
"Yes; at least that is what every one believes, except possibly one
man--his former valet. His body was found lying dead on the floor of
his private apartment, the door of his safe open, the money and papers
missing. The coroner's jury brought in a verdict of murder on these
facts."
"And the murderer?"
"Left no clue; it was believed to be the work of a burglar."
"But when was this?"
She gave the date, and he studied over it.
"The same day he should have received my telegram," he said gravely.
"That's why the poor fellow never answered." He turned to her
suddenly.


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