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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

"You will think I am always gazing in the
direction of The Hollies, but my room commands this house so fully that I
cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes ago I heard
what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw your window
thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle was showing in
the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire what had happened.
You'll pardon me, I'm sure."
"Say you don't, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for you,"
pleaded Hart.
"Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart," smiled Grant. "Won't you sit
down? We have an exciting story for you."
"Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out."
Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that she
should take the proffered chair.
"Sorry to interrupt," broke in Furneaux. "Did you meet P.C. Robinson!"
"No."
"You came by way of the bridge?"
"There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk."
The detective whirled round on Grant.
"What room is over this one?"
"Minnie's."
"She's in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn't come
upstairs while I'm absent.


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