Benson Road, Ferndale._
As she read the card it flashed through Dorothy's mind that after all the
woman might simply be trying to get trade. There seemed to be some
connection between Tavia's envelope and the business advertised on Miss
Brooks' card. But whatever could she want of Tavia? Surely she could not
imagine a young girl needing the services of an expert penman?
"I saw your trouble in the store the other day," Miss Brooks ventured,
"and was so sorry for you. I did want to help you--to tell that young
woman detective just what I thought. But experience has taught me that it
is not always best to interfere in such cases. It often only adds to the
difficulty."
Dorothy could not find words in which to reply. Whatever she might say
would either seem stupid or perhaps suspicious. And of the subtle ways of
women "sharpers" Dorothy had often heard. It was, she decided, almost
impossible to be sufficiently alert to offset their cunning. Perhaps this
woman was one of that class--an adept at it.
"Is there any particular time you would like Miss Travers to call?"
Dorothy asked, turning the subject sharply.
"I am always at home on Thursdays," replied Miss Brooks, "and she will
have no trouble in finding me. I board at the Griswold."
Dorothy knew the Griswold to be a rest resort, a sort of sanitarium where
fashionable people went to recuperate from home or social duties.
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