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Updated: May 15, 2025
But the spinster hesitated; she relied upon Foster more than she was willing to admit, and the promise of his presence had reconciled her to the prospect of a trying afternoon. "I prefer to go with you," she objected, turning appealingly to him. "But, Kiametia, you can't," interposed Foster hurriedly. "The law forbids it. I will be in the next room should you need me."
"Don't worry." Foster laid a soothing hand on hers. "Kathleen's condition is not surprising under the circumstances; the shock of finding Spencer's dead body was quite enough to produce hysteria and irrational conduct. When herself, her explanations will clear up the mystery. Therefore, why harbor a doubt of her innocence?" "If you had seen the expression of her eyes," exclaimed Miss Kiametia.
"With the German steamships and freighters interned here we should have a merchant marine ready to our hand." "And thereby provide instant use for our navy," retorted Whitney. "Uncle Sam had better think twice before taking issue with the German submarines," grumbled Miss Kiametia. Whitney's eyes lit with an angry sparkle, and he opened his mouth to speak, but his wife gave him no opportunity.
At first I was too stunned to move; then impulsively turned on the electric light so that I might see better, and discovered the finger print on his shirt. "I don't suppose I would have been so quick to recognize the finger mark had not Miss Kiametia called my attention to it the day before when reading Captain M Trent's palm," she resumed, not looking at Miller.
As Foster sped by the War, State, and Navy Building he noted the lights burning in widely separated office rooms and smiled grimly to himself. Parking the car near the Whitney residence, he made his way to the front door. Miss Kiametia Grey answered his impatient ring at the bell.
Upstairs in the library the two candles which Foster had been able to find in the desk drawer burned brightly in their improvised candlesticks. The flame, however, served but to intensify the darkness of the large room. The minutes had ticked themselves away in swift succession, but still Miss Kiametia Grey did not return.
Foster, following Miss Kiametia, was startled by a glimpse of her face as she stepped into the sunlight whose merciless rays betrayed the new lines about her closely compressed lips. A touch of rouge enhanced her pallor. Suddenly conscious of his intent regard she seated herself, turning her back squarely to the light.
Miss Kiametia fingered her gown nervously. "You were in Baltimore when the newspapers published Spencer's will, and this afternoon Dr. McLane interrupted us," she began. "Is it really true that Sinclair Spencer left Kathleen a small fortune?" "Yes. On investigation, I find he held valuable stock, as well as improved real estate of known value."
"If you plan to do that, may I get your chauffeur to take me home?" asked Miss Kiametia quickly. "Why, of course; I only wish that I could accompany you." Foster wavered, he desired most ardently to see the spinster alone, but the note was urgent, and considering the source, could not be ignored. "Good-bye." Shaking hands warmly with Mrs. Whitney and Miss Kiametia, he hastily departed.
I suspected everyone," Miller smiled suddenly, "even you, Senator Foster your peace propaganda fooled me...." "Wait," broke in Miss Kiametia. "Randall shan't be blamed for that; Minna Whitney insinuated that he would not make a peace speech even for me, so I I...." "Proved her wrong," Foster laughed ruefully. "Mrs.
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