immense relief he refrained from any questioning, and at the end of my recital put up his pocket-book, and rose, holding out his hand. “Well, you’ve given me very valuable assistance, Mr. Wynn. Queer old card, that Russian. We shouldn’t have much difficulty in tracing him, though you never can tell with these aliens. They’ve as many bolt holes as a rat. You say he’s the only suspicious looking visitor you’ve ever seen here?” “The only one of any kind I’ve encountered who wanted Cassavetti. After all, I knew very little of him, and though we were such near neighbors, I saw him far more often about town than here.” “You never by any chance saw a lady going up to his [Pg 54]rooms, or on the staircase as if she might be going up there? A red-haired woman,—or fair-haired, anyhow—well-dressed?” [Pg 54] “Never!” I said emphatically, and with truth. “Why do you ask?” “Because there was a red-haired woman in his flat last night. That’s all. Good day, Mr. Wynn.” [Pg 55] [Pg 55] CHAPTER VIII A TIMELY WARNING It was rather late that evening when I returned to the Cayleys; for I had to go to the office, and write my report of the murder. It would be a scoop for the “Courier;” for, though the other papers might get hold of the bare facts, the details of the thrilling story I constructed were naturally exclusive. I made it pretty lurid, and put in all I had told Freeman, and that I intended to repeat at the inquest. I The news editor was exultant. He regarded a Sunday murder as nothing short of a godsend to enliven the almost inevitable dulness of the Monday morning’s issue at this time of year. “Lucky you weren’t out of town, Wynn, or we should have missed this, and had to run in with the rest,” he remarked with a chuckle. Lucky! “Wish I had been out of town,” I said gloomily. “It’s a ghastly affair.”
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