on an egg to boil. After her shower bath, she extinguished the burners under pot and pan and, after having dressed, she breakfasted, washed the dishes which she had used and reconverted her bed into a couch.
It was likely, she considered, that Dads had plenty of money, which had been got no more dishonestly than by "borrowing" from Hoberg; and, if he had cash, he would be generous with mamma. However, he might have had money last night and have none now; so Joan Daisy took her usual precaution of hiding a couple of quarter dollars in the cinnamon jar, where her mother would look for money, if in need.
None of these domestic doings, and least of all her hope and dream, could have been so much as suspected by the man whom Calvin had posted to watch the flat. He merely saw her emerge from the building at quarter before eight when, after hesitating at the door until the walk momentarily was clear, she hurried away and mingled in the crowd for the elevated.
"She looked cool and O. K.," reported the detective who had been detailed to observe her. "I'll say she rested all right; she went straight to the office of G. A. Hoberg and is there with him now."
Calvin received this information in his office where, on this Monday morning, he was busy assembling and assorting the reports, records and exhibits of evidence, memoranda, photographs, plates and affidavits which he would offer to prove, beyond any matter of reasonable doubt, that Frederic Ketlar had killed Adele, his wife, and which proved, to Calvin's mind, that Joan Daisy Royle had been implicated with him.
The gathered evidence, as he sorted it before him, was damning—thrillingly, depressingly damning. If it was not yet complete, still it was sufficient for the purposes of the day; it would start the moving of the machinery
