Scarecrow (Musaicum Murder Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

out, and have something definite to tell you on your return."

      "You're a fool, Edna," said Blythe in a warning tone, "the only thing to do now, is to lock this busybody up where he can't do any harm, and get away—over into Italy, and through it into that other place I know of—"

      "No," Edna said firmly, "the offer was made to me, concerns me, I want to hear what Mr. Inskipp has to say. I want an hour to talk it over."

      "Do you, by God!" The words were a snarl. "He'll have to settle with me, remember."

      She turned to him with a smile.

      "Of course he will. Naturally he will. Now leave us here for an hour. Unless you want us to go for a walk—"

      "No," said Blythe very ungraciously, "this is the safest place for a private talk. I'm off. For exactly sixty minutes."

      Blythe stamped heavily down the wooden stairs.

      Edna stood listening intently, she went to the window to watch his burly figure making off by the maize plantations, then she turned, her face all white and quivering.