Explore "The Man in Lower Ten" by Mary Roberts Rinehart on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I slept most of the way to Cresson, to the disgust of the little detective. Finally he struck up an acquaintance with a kindly-faced old priest on his way home to his convent school, armed with a roll of dance music and surreptitious bundles that looked like boxes of candy. From scraps of conversation I gleaned that there had been mysterious occurrences at the convent -- ending in the theft of what the reverend father called vaguely, "a quantity of undermuslins. " I dropped asleep at that point, and when I roused a few moments later, the conversation had progressed. Hotchkiss had a diagram on an envelope.
"With this window bolted, and that one inaccessible, and if, as you say, the -- er -- garments were in a tub here at X, then, as you hold the key to the other door -- I think you said the convent dog did not raise any disturbance? Pardon a personal question, but do you ever walk in your sleep?"