"They
are old love letters of mine."
Clymer glanced down at the envelope which the detective still held,
the red seal making a distinct blotch of color on the white, glazed
surface.
"Ah, Kent," he said in amusement. "So rumor is right in predicting
your engagement to Barbara McIntyre. Good luck to you!"
Through the open doorway to the dining room where the dancing had
ceased for the moment, came a soft laugh and Mrs. Brewster looked
in at them. McIntyre, standing like her shadow, gazed in curiosity
over her shoulder at the three men.
"How jolly to find you," cooed Mrs. Brewster. "And what a charming
retreat! It's much too nice to be occupied by men, only." She
inclined her head in a little gracious bow to Ferguson and stepped
inside.
"Have my chair," suggested Clymer hospitably as the pretty widow
raised her lorgnette and scanned the Oriental hangings and lamps,
and lastly, the white envelope which lay on the table, red seal
uppermost, where Ferguson had placed it on her entrance.
"Are your daughters here, Colonel McIntyre?" asked Kent as he took
a step toward the table.
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