I could not tell
whether she had really noticed that the house was watched or was
acting a part.
"What does this mean?" she demanded. "What--Gladys--you--"
"Florence--tell them--it isn't so--is it? You don't know a thing
about those plans of father's that were--stolen--that night."
"Where is Nordheim?" interjected Burke quickly, a little of his
"third degree" training getting the upper hand.
"Nordheim?"
"Yes--you know. Tell me. Is he here?"
"Here? Isn't it bad enough to hound him, without hounding me, too?
Will you merciless detectives drive us all from, place to place
with your brutal suspicions?"
"Merciless?" inquired Burke, smiling with sarcasm. "Who has been
hounding him?"
"You know very well what I mean," she repeated, drawing herself up
to her full height and patting Gladys's hand to reassure her.
"Read that message on the table."
Burke picked up a yellow telegram dated New York, two days before.
It was as I feared when I left you. The secret service must
have rummaged my baggage both here and at the hotel.
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