Wenham Gardner, and it is just as well that some one should warn
her."
"Warn her of what?" Tavernake asked.
The detective looked at his cigar meditatively.
"Make her understand that there is trouble ahead," he replied.
Tavernake sipped his whiskey and soda and lit a cigarette. Then
he turned in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his companion.
Pritchard was a striking-looking man, with hard, clean-cut
features--a man of determination.
"Mr. Pritchard, I am a clerk in an estate office. My people were
work-people and I am trying to better myself in the world. I
haven't learned how to beat about a subject, but I have learned a
little of the world, and I know that people such as you are not
in the habit of doing things without a reason. Why the devil
have you brought me in here to talk about Mrs. Gardner and her
sister? If you've anything to say, why don't you go to Mrs.
Gardner herself and say it? Why do you come and talk to
strangers about their affairs? I am here listening to you, but I
tell you straight I don't like it."
Pritchard nodded.
"Say, I am not sure that I don't like that sort of talk," he
declared. "I know all about you, young man. You're in Dowling &
Spence's office and you've got to quit. You've got an estate you
want financing. Miss Beatrice Franklin was living under your
roof--as your sister, I understand--until yesterday, and Mrs.
Gardner, for some reason of her own, seems to be doing her best
to add you to the list of her admirers.
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