“That’s so,” chimed in Kate; “she’s proved all that over and over,—and more too! She has no notion of common decency toward her neighbors; she is a two-faced, backbiting, sneaky, tattletale!” “But this doesn’t prove young Bates——” “Yes, it does!” the detective’s argument was cut off; “she brought him up, and she taught him all her own evil principles, and her own way of thinking and talking——” “But you scarcely know the man,——” “That’s doesn’t matter! He’s the nephew of Letitia Prall,—and that’s enough for me! My daughter shall never speak to him,—never meet him,—and lest such a chance should occur accidentally, I am planning to move away.” “You don’t think your daughter is—is interested in Mr Bates?” “I know she is not! Dorcas is a wayward-tempered child, but she is loyal to her mother and her mother’s wishes. She wouldn’t dream of seeing Richard Bates against my will.” Now, as it happened at that very moment, the loyal child was apparently quite oblivious of the wishes of her beloved mother, for she was sitting by the side of the objurgated Richard on a bench in Central Park. When told to leave the room by her mother, she had also left the Everett apartment, and later, the house. By some discreet telephoning she had summoned the despised young man and the two had sauntered out of The Campanile, separately, and joined company soon after. “It’s a risk,” Dorcas was saying, “and if mother, catches on, she’ll give me Hail Columbia, but I just had to see you! Do you know what they’re saying about your uncle’s murder, now?” “No; and I don’t want to hear from you. Please, dear, let’s leave all that horror out of our conversation. We get so few moments together and I need every one of them to tell you how I love you.” “Then,” the red lips pouted, “when am I to tell you how much I love you?” “Oh, Dork! you do say the sweetest things! Tell me, darling, tell me, first, then I’ll tell you——” “We may as well both talk at once,” Dorcas laughed. “We can say the same things,—it’ll really be a duet!” “All right, say with me,—I love you. Ready, one, two, three, go!” “I love you!” they said in concert. “No fun,” decided Dorcas; “I want you to tell me separately.” So Richard did, to such an extent and with so much detail and reiteration that the moments flew by, and it was time to go home before the other side of the shield was painted. “But, Ricky, dear,” Dorcas said finally, “I must talk a little about this awful thing. I’ve heard a lot of hints and whispers,—for mother and Kate shut up as soon as I come into the room,—and I want to know this: Is your aunt, Miss Prall, suspected of killing Sir Herbert?” “Good Lord, no! What an awful idea! Where did you dig that up?” “I’ve heard a lot, I tell you. And some people do think so!” “But it’s absurd! Impossible! Also, I won’t have such talk going around! You must tell me, Dork, where you heard it! Tell me all you know.”