Clancy was prepared to hear Spofford plead, argue, even threaten. Such
action would have been quite consistent with his character as she
understood it. But to her relief he accepted the situation. He rose
stiffly from the chair.
"Well, I'll be moseyin' along. I'm gonna look into a coupla leads that
may not mean anything. But y' never can tell in this business. Much
obliged to you, Miss Deane. No hard feelings?"
"None at all," said Clancy. "I think--why I think it's _wonderful_ of
you, Mr. Spofford, to be so--so friendly!"
Spofford blushed. It was probably the first time that a woman had
brought the color to his cheeks--in anything save anger--for many years.
"Aw, now--why, Miss Deane--you know I--glad to meetcha," stammered
Spofford. He made a stumbling, confused, and extremely light-hearted
departure from the house. Somehow, he felt deeply obligated to Clancy
Deane.
The door closed behind him, and Clancy sat down once again upon the
stairs. She felt safe at last. Now that the danger was past, she did not
know whether to laugh or cry. Was it past? Before yielding to either
emotional impulse, why not analyze the situation? What had Spofford
said? That until the murderer was captured, she would always be
apprehensive. Until the murderer was caught----
She tapped her foot upon the lower stair. There was no questioning
Spofford's sincerity. He did not believe her guilty. But---- The
telephone-bell rang. It was Sally Henderson.
"Miss Deane?... Oh, is this you? This is Miss Henderson. Man named
Randall telephoned a few minutes ago. Very urgent, he said. I don't like
giving out telephone-numbers. Thought I'd call you. Want to talk with
him?"
Like a flash Clancy replied,
"No."
No pique inspired her reply. Randall had not measured up. That the
standard of measurement she applied was tremendously high made no
difference to Clancy, abated no whit her judgment.
A week ago, she had met Randall. She had thought him kind. She had liked
him. She had even debated within herself the advisability, the
possibility of yielding to his evident regard. More than that, she had
practically offered to marry him. And he had been cautious, had not
leaped at the opportunity that, for one golden moment, had been his.
Clancy did not phrase it exactly this way, but her failure to do so was
not due to modesty. For never a woman walked to the altar but believed,
in her heart of hearts, that she was giving infinitely more than she
received.
"Probably," said Clancy, half aloud, "he's found out that the Walbroughs
are still with me, and that Philip Vandervent isn't afraid of me----"
She thought of Vandervent's flowers, and the card that had accompanied
them.
"What did you say?" demanded Sally Henderson. Clancy blushed furiously.
She realized that she'd been holding on to the receiver. "I thought
that you said something about Judge Walbrough."
"Lines must have been crossed," suggested Clancy.
"Rotten telephone service," said Miss Henderson. "Oh, and another man!"