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Updated: May 25, 2025
Fifi Desternay raised her hands and let them fall with a pretty little gesture of helplessness. She was a slip of a thing, and it was the morning of the day after the Embury tragedy she was garbed in a scant but becoming negligee, and had received the detective in her morning room, where she sat, tucked into the corner of a great davenport sofa, smoking cigarettes.
Surprised and a little amused, he replied: "Really, I've never stopped to think. I should say, though, that I was perfectly content." Fifi laughed and coughed. "There's a big difference isn't there? Why, it's just like the exercise, Mr. Queed. Before you began it you were just not sick; now you are very well. That's the difference between content and happiness.
Eunice's eyes were stormy, not glittering desperate rather than defiant she seemed almost like a fierce, powerful tiger appraising a small but very wily ferret. "Is this a bargain?" she cried scathingly. "Are you offering to buy my friendship? I know you, Fifi Desternay! You are a snake in the grass!"
Afterward I'll hire a motor from some local garage and join you at Norwood Junction in an hour's time. Let no one see the body or enter the compartment where it lies until I come. One question, however: is my memory at fault, or was it not Lord Stavornell who was mixed up in that little affair with the French dancer, Mademoiselle Fifi de Lesparre, who was such a rage in town about a year ago?"
I had to go so far as to tell her that as long as I'm housekeeper in my father's house she'd do what I say or find some other place. She behaved outrageously and pretended to believe the natural colour of Fifi and Mimi is gray!" "I expect," said Florence, after pondering seriously for a little while "I expect it would take quite some time to dry them." "No doubt. But I'd rather you didn't assist.
"Well, ma'am," and here Fibsy changed his demeanor to a stern, scowling fierceness, "I'm a special investigator." He rose now, and strode about the room. "I'm engaged on the Embury murder case, and I'm here to ask you a few pointed questions about it." "My heavens!" cried Fifi, "what are you talking about?" "Don't scoff at me, ma'am; I'm in authority." "Oh, well, go ahead.
People didn't do that after forty years; here was Fifi only dead a year, and he never saw anybody crying for her. No, they were weeping over an idea; it was sentiment, and a vague, misty, unreasonable sentiment at that. And yet he could not say that Miss Weyland appeared simply foolish with those tears in her eyes.
"What kind's that?" "Well, a full-blooded cur-dog is somethin' rare in these parts. You wouldn't find him at an ordinary dog-show, like your mother goes to. Now, Sammy's dog is full-blooded leastways, he will be, when he's fed up." "My mother's dog is a pedigree-dog. Is Sammy's that kind?" "I ain't ast him, but I shouldn't wonder." "My mother's got a paper tells all about where Fifi came from.
And, too, they all have flower-boxes, except one, and the flowers were undisturbed. The one that hasn't a flower-box is on the side street, in Miss Ames' room. And that I looked out myself has no balcony, nor even abroad ledge. It couldn't be reached from the next apartment if that's what you're thinking of." "I'm not thinking of anything," returned Fifi. "I'm too dazed to think! Eunice Embury!
This is something that I know very well." "But you know everything," she murmured. Without seeking to deny this, Queed said: "It tells you right there in the book." "I don't see it," said Fifi, nervously looking high and low, not only in the book but all over the room. The young man fell back on the inductive method: "What is that six then?" "Oh! Now I see.
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