In the meantime, the quarry, if we may be permitted so to designate her,
stood before them as pretty as a picture. At her side was Tom Reddon,
and a dozen guests of the house fell in behind them.
"Did Rosalie tell you?" demanded Miss Banks. "The mean thing! She said
she wouldn't."
"Ro--Rosalie!" gasped Anderson; "tell me what?" nervously.
"That I was--was coming over here with Tom. Didn't she tell you?"
"I should say not. If she'd told me you don't suppose I'd'a' driv' clear
over here in this kinder weather fer nothin', do you? Thunder! Did she
know 'bout it?"
"Certainly, Mr. Crow. She helped with the plans."
"Well, good gosh a'mighty! An' we was a-keepin' from her the awful news
fer fear 'twould give her a backset."
"Awful news! What do you mean? Oh, you frighten me terribly!"
"Doggone! I don't believe Rosalie was sick at all," continued Anderson,
quite regardless of the impatience of his listeners; "she jest wanted to
keep from answerin' questions. She jest regularly let everybody believe
you had been slaughtered, an' never opened her mouth."
"Slaughtered!" cried half a dozen people.
"Sure! Hain't you heard 'bout the murder?"
"Murder?" apprehensively from the excited New Yorkers.
"Yes--the teacher of schoolhouse No. 5 was brutally butchered
las--las--night--by--"
[Illustration: "What is the meaning of all this?"]
"Go slow, Anderson! Better hold your horses!" cautioned Harry
Squires.
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