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Ightly. "You can sit here, Lizzie--and help

Begun to tie up pretty close together. Bailey disappeared this morning. Have 
you heard from him
since?" Her eyes met his without weakening, her voice was cool and composed. 
"No." The detective did
not comment on her answer. She could not tell from his face whether he thought
she had told the truth or

lied. He turned away from her brusquely. "I'll ask you to bring Miss Van
Gorder here," he said in his professional voice. "Why do you want her?" Dale blazed at him 
rebelliously. He was quiet. "Because this case is taking on a new phase." "You don't think I know 
anything about that money?" she said, a little wildly, hoping that a display of sham anger might throw him 
off the trail he seemed to be following. He seemed to accept her

words, cynically, at their face value. "No," he said, "but you know somebody who 
does." Dale hesitated, sought for a biting
retort, found none. It did

not matter; any respite, no matter how momentary, from

these probing questions, would be a relief. She silently took one of the 
lighted candles and left the living-room to search for her aunt. Left alone, 
the detective reflected for a moment, then picking up the one lighted candle 
that remained, commenced

a systematic examination of the living-room. His methods
were thorough, but if, when he came to the end of his
quest, he h

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