"Oh, you men!"
It was evident that the two had a certain regard for each other, a sort of wild, animal affection, above, below, beyond, without the law. They seemed at least to understand each other.
Who the man was I could not guess. It was a voice that sounded familiar, yet I could not place it.
"She will come to see her Lucille," repeated the woman. "But you must not be seen."
"No—by no means."
The voice of the man was not that of a foreigner.
"Here, Lucille, take this. Only get her interested—I will do the rest—and the money is yours. See—you crush it in the handkerchief—so. Be careful—you WILL crush it before you want to use it. There. Under her nose, you know. I shall be there in a moment and finish the work. That is all you need do—with the handkerchief."
Garrick made a motion, as if to turn a switch in the little vocaphone, and rested his finger on it.
"I could make those two jump out of the window with fright and surprise," he said to me, still fingering the switch impatiently. "You see, it works the other way, too, as I told you, if I choose to throw this switch. Suppose I should shout out, and they should hear, apparently coming from the fireplace, 'You are discovered. Thank you for telling me all your plans, but I am prepared for them already.' What do you suppose they would—"
Garrick stopped short.