The Million Dollar Suitcase

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Alice MacGowan

The Million Dollar Suitcase

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A deathlike hush. Dykeman’s mere look was a call for the ambulance; Anson slumped in his chair; little old Sillsbee sat twisted away so that his face was in shadow, but the knuckles showed bone white where his hand gripped the table top. None of them seemed able to speak; the young voice that broke startlingly on the stillness had the effect of scaring the others, with its tone of nonchalance, rather than reassuring them. Worth Gilbert leaned forward and looked round in my direction with,

“This is beginning to be interesting. What do the police say of it?”

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