132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. ” Resigned, she rosined the bow and tightened the loose strings. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Has he given you the tools?" "He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief. .
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