Читать книгу Joe Leslie's Wife; or, a Skeleton in the Closet онлайн

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“She has that, and very much like Lillian.”

“Consider the thing fixed and invite me when her sister is on from Chicago.”

“I certainly will—what did I do with my hat—ah, here it is on the desk—I will see you again to-morrow, Eric—”

He ceased talking in the middle of a sentence, bent his head down, for the light was gradually fading in the detective’s office, and then turning suddenly, said:

“Hello! Darrell, old man, where did you get that—who’s been writing down the number of my Twenty-seventh Street house?”

Darrell had forgotten to remove the paper upon which Lillian had written the address, with her gloves on, and Joe Leslie now held it in his hand.

ssss1

This was what might with considerable propriety be called a contretemps.

If Joe Leslie recognized the writing as that of his wife, the game was up.

He had no doubt had many letters from her during their courtship days, and knew the style of the chirography well.

One thing favored Darrell.