" Kent's gaze did not waver before his penetrating look.
"I have already told you that the envelope contained old love letters,
and I very naturally do not wish them to fall into the hands of
Colonel McIntyre, the father of the girl I hope to marry."
Ferguson smiled understandingly. "I see. From what I know of
Colonel McIntyre there's a very narrow, nagging spirit concealed
under his frank and engaging manner; I wish you joy of your future
father-in-law," and he chuckled.
"Thanks," dryly. "You haven't answered my question as to who stood
nearest the porch table, Ferguson."
The detective looked thoughtful. "We all stood fairly near; perhaps
Mrs. Brewster was a shade the nearest. Mr. Clymer was offering her
a chair when that noise came from the dining room. There's one thing
I am willing to swear to" - his manner grew more earnest -" that
envelope was still lying on the table when I hustled into the dining
room."
"Well, who was the last person to leave the porch?" Kent demanded
eagerly.
"I don't know," was the disappointing answer.
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