Spofford caressed his mustache.
"Oh, I getcha. Oh-h!" His grin was complimentary neither to Clancy nor Vandervent. Then it died away; his eyes became shrewd, although his voice was drawling. "And the faintin'—that was part of the joke, eh, lady?"
Clancy felt a little chill of nervous apprehension run between her shoulder-blades. Confidence left her. This man Spofford, she seemed to foresee, might be dangerous. She was not out of the woods yet. But Vandervent's words reassured her.
"Miss Deane doesn't need to explain anything to you, Spofford."
There was a touch of petulance in the assistant district attorney's voice. Spofford recognized it.
"Sure not, Mr. Vandervent. Certainly she don't. Only—" He paused; he turned, and started for the door.
Vandervent recalled him sharply.
"What do you mean by 'only,' Spofford?"
"Well, she come in here and said she was Florine Ladue—and then she faints when you come out to see her. I meant that, if there was any of the newspaper boys hangin' around——"
"There weren't," said Vandervent. "And if the papers should mention Miss Deane's joke—" The threat was quite patent.