’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. And, though the villain can't see his orders executed, I've no doubt some one else will.
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