"Well, let me see. I've got to come down Woodridge Avenue to see a patient in a few minutes anyhow. Suppose I just drop off at your place?"
"That will be fine. You don't think it is anything serious, do you, Doctor?"
"Oh, no. Probably it's her nerves. Perhaps a little rest would do her good. We'll see."
The telegraphone stopped, and that seemed to be the last conversation recorded. So far we had learned nothing very startling, I thought, and was just a little disappointed. Kennedy seemed well satisfied, however.
Our own telephone rang, and it proved to be Donnelly on the wire. He had been trying to get Kennedy all day, in order to report that at various times his men at Trimble's had observed Mrs. Willoughby and later Annie Grayson looking with much interest at the Kimberley Queen, and other jewels in the exhibit. There was nothing more to report.
"Keep it on view another day or two," ordered Kennedy. "Advertise it, but in a quiet way. We don't want too many people interested. I'll see you in the morning at the store—early."
"I think I'll just run back to Glenclair again to-night," remarked Kennedy as he hung up the receiver. "You needn't bother about coming, Walter. I want to see Dr. Guthrie a moment. You remember him? We met him to-day at the country club, a kindly looking, middle-aged fellow?"
I would willingly have gone back with him, but I felt that I could be of no particular use. While he was gone I pondered a good deal over the situation.
