Part 4 (1/2)
”Yes; my father is a salesman.”
”For some Chicago house, I suppose.”
”No; for a business house in St. Louis. We formerly lived there.”
”St. Louis is a pleasant city,” commented Morgan. ”Still, many people prefer Chicago.”
”Oh, I think I should prefer to live in St. Louis, because I have a few friends there,” she said. ”But I am studying music, and when my mother died, father suggested that I live in Chicago where I could attend a better musical college. Then, too, father could get home more often as he travels in this vicinity.”
”I suppose your father travels for some well known St. Louis house?”
suggested Morgan.
”Well, really, I don't know the name of his firm,” returned the girl. ”Business has never held any interest for me.”
It struck Morgan as strange that even a girl who did not take an interest in business should be ignorant of the name of the firm by whom her father was employed, yet he seemed to find many things that were contradictory in this girl. The chatty line of conversation he had taken was bringing out information in a manner highly satisfactory to Morgan. He was about to make another comment, that might elicit further facts, when he was interrupted by a question which he had been expecting.
”Tell me,” inquired Miss Atwood, a slight color coming to her cheeks, ”what this man Marsh said about me.”
Morgan was pleased. This gave him an opening for some questioning which he had hesitated to take up before. He wanted to know just how much this girl knew about Marsh. ”Don't you really know Mr. Marsh?”
he began.
”No,” she replied. ”I didn't even know there was such a person in the house.”
”Well, that is certainly strange. I'm sure that he told me to talk to the young lady on the top floor. Perhaps he meant some young lady who lived across the hall. Still, there doesn't seem to have been anyone there since the trouble.”
Miss Atwood smiled. ”He could not have meant anyone in that apartment, for I understand it is occupied only by an elderly couple, a Mr. Ames and his wife. I understood father to say that he had heard they were traveling in Europe. I am sure no one has lived there since we have been in this apartment.”
”How long have you been here?” asked Morgan.
”Let me see,” said Miss Atwood, thoughtfully. ”This is almost the end of October, and we have been here since the middle of July. That is a little over three months, isn't it?”
”July,” repeated Morgan. ”That isn't a renting season. You must rent this apartment furnished.”
”We do,” she replied, promptly. ”Father was too busy to spend any time on moving, so we stored our things in St. Louis and took this apartment.”
”Real estate agents have been making lots of money these days. I hear a great many people have to pay them a bonus for finding apartments. I suppose they stuck you that way, too.”
”No,” returned the girl. ”I understand that father rented direct from the tenant. I believe the tenant was a friend of his, or someone he knew in a business way.”
The embroidery which had been lying in Miss Atwood's lap had gradually slipped forward and at this moment dropped to the floor.
As she reached down to pick it up, Morgan's alert eyes noted a purplish mark on her forearm.
”You seem to have bruised your arm, Miss Atwood,” he said, in a tone that was intended to express sympathy.
”Oh, did you notice that mark?” she exclaimed. ”That has been puzzling me all day. I awoke suddenly last night with a feeling as if something had bitten me, but almost immediately went to sleep again. During the morning I noticed this mark and the swelling. I can't imagine what could have done it.”
”May I look at it?” asked Morgan, as he rose and approached her.