"Why, no." Clymer's voice testified to his increased surprise.
"Mrs. Brewster dropped her fan right in the doorway just as McIntyre
and I approached; we both stooped to get it and, like fools; bumped
our heads together in the act. He got the fan, however, and I
waited for him to walk into the dining room before following Mrs.
Brewster."
"As you passed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying
on the table?" persisted Kent.
"Upon my word I never looked at the table," Clymer's hearty tone
carried conviction. "I walked right along in my hurry to know what
the cheering was about. I am sorry, Kent; have you mislaid your
letter?"
"Yes," glumly. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Clymer; good
night," and Clymer's echoing, "Good night" sounded faintly as he
hung up the receiver.
"Drew blank," he announced, turning to Ferguson. "Confound you,
Ferguson; you bad no right to touch the papers in my safe. If harm
comes from it, I'll make you suffer," and not waiting for the
detective's jumbled apologies and explanations, he hurried from the
building.
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