In a moment she came back, and I had a chance to note again her
pretty but expressionless features, among which the restless eyes
alone bespoke character or decision.

"Mr. Jeffrey is in the back room upstairs," she announced. "He
says for you to come up."

"Is it the room Mrs. Jeffrey used to occupy?" I asked with open
curiosity, as I passed her.

An involuntary shudder proved that she was not without feeling.
So did the quick disclaimer:

"No, no! Those rooms are closed. He occupies the one Miss Tuttle
had before she went away."

"Oh, then, Miss Tuttle is gone?"

Loretta disdained to answer. She had already said enough to cause
her to bite her lip as she disappeared down the basement stair.
Decidedly the boys were right. An uneasy feeling followed any
conversation with this girl. Yet, while there was slyness in her
manner, there was a certain frank honesty visible in it too, which
caused me to think that if she could ever be made to speak, her
evidence could be relied on.

Mr. Jeffrey was sitting with his back to the door when I entered,
but turned as I spoke his name and held out his hand for the note
I carried. I had no expectation of his remembering me as one of
the men who had stood about that night in the Moore house, and I