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

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They got in the same car.

At this time in the evening it was pretty crowded and both had to stand up.

At Twenty-seventh Street a number left the train and those we follow with the rest.

Darrell observed Joe eagerly consult his watch.

“He’s late this evening and no doubt expects a scolding,” was his mental comment upon seeing the frown upon Joe’s usually good-natured face.

The giant walked along so fast that Eric could hardly keep his place behind him.

They approached the fatal number.

Truly Joe acted like a guilty wretch—he glanced up and down the street as if to make sure no acquaintance was passing.

Deception was a novelty to him—this was the first time Darrell had ever seen his friend acting in a mean role.

When they reached the steps Joe ascended them, took a key out of his pocket and deliberately opened the front door.

The detective was passing at the time, but his quick glance failed to reveal anything of interest.

Evening was coming on, and the shadows of the approaching night had evidently gathered in the hall of the house—he could just see the glass globe of the hanging gas jet in the hall, but it was not lighted.