“Oh, no, sir, just the opposite way. He went toward the Avenue.”
“I see. Well, very likely the lady is in no way concerned in last night’s work.”
“That’s what I think, sir. Just a casual guest—going on to another party. That’s the way they do.”
“Who engaged you people, Joe? Mr. Locke?”
“No, sir. Mr. Post. He always does. Mr. Locke don’t have parties very often, leastways, not big ones—and when he does, Mr. Post and Miss Vallon, they do all the ordering. Mr. Locke, he likes it better that way. He’s no head for such details.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not so well, sir, but I’ve seen him. A pleasant-speaking man to-day, and to-morrow—well, sort of absent-minded.”
“He wasn’t absent-minded when he left the house last night?”
“Not a bit. Bright as could be. Just, back in a minute, and a pleasant smile, and he was off.”
“Do you suppose, Joe, that he could have—er—you know, committed a crime, and then gone off gay—like that?”
“Well, he wasn’t to say gay, sir. But—oh, well there’s no tellin’ with these artist folks. They’re not like real people. I know. I’ve opened doors to both sorts—to all sorts—and the people down here—they’re sort of touch and go, here to-day and gone to-morrow. I can’t seem to think that Mr. Locke would do such a thing—and I don’t think he did—but if he did—why, yes, I think he’d be quite up to skipping off like as if nothing was the matter. And isn’t the fact that he hasn’t come back, pretty good proof of his guilt?”
“So you suspect him, do you?”
