She said something under her breath, snapped the cover on the inkwell, sighed, patted her pompadour, and finally laughed at her own uneasiness.
"Whenever that man comes in here," she observed impatiently, "I always feel as if I ought to clean house after him.

If ever there was a human toad--or snake, or--ugh! And what does he mean--sending twenty-word messages that don't make sense when you read them over, and getting others that are just a lot of words jumbled together, hit or miss?
I wish--only it's unprofessional to talk about it--but, just the same, there's some nasty business brewing, and I know it.

I feel guilty, almost, every time I send one of those cipher messages." "Maybe he's a detective," Evadna hazarded.
"Maybe." Miss Georgie's tone, however, was extremely skeptical.

"Only, so far as I can discover, there's never been anything around here to detect.

Nobody has been murdered, or robbed, or kidnapped that I ever heard of.