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The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart
page 8 of 269 (02%)
moment we were at the door, poised for flight.

"We'll have to run for it," I said in a whisper. "She's down there
with a package of some sort, sandwiches probably. And she's
threatened me with overshoes for a month. Ready now!"

I had a kaleidoscopic view of Mrs. Klopton in the lower hall,
holding out an armful of such traveling impedimenta as she deemed
essential, while beside her, Euphemia, the colored housemaid,
grinned over a white-wrapped box.

"Awfully sorry-no time-back Sunday," I panted over my shoulder.
Then the door closed and the car was moving away.

McKnight bent forward and stared at the facade of the empty house
next door as we passed. It was black, staring, mysterious, as empty
buildings are apt to be.

"I'd like to hold a post-mortem on that corpse of a house," he said
thoughtfully. "By George, I've a notion to get out and take a look."

"Somebody after the brass pipes," I scoffed. "House has been empty
for a year."

With one hand on the steering wheel McKnight held out the other for
my cigarette case. "Perhaps," he said; "but I don't see what she
would want with brass pipe."

"A woman!" I laughed outright. "You have been looking too hard at
the picture in the back of your watch, that's all. There's an
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