“Because she’s seeing her lawyer about it.”
“And this man Uhlan?”
“He sent his attorney, a man named Shotwell, to my studio to explain that because of his injuries he couldn’t paint his twelve-thousand-dollar portrait. I was quite willing to pay for that until old Shotwell put in another claim for twelve thousand dollars for damages in general and an extra thousand for himself.”
“So they’re all trying after a bite,” commented Gerry, studying his engagement-pad. “Now, tell me, Miss Hayden——”
“Don’t do that,” was Teddie’s sharp command.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t call me Miss Hayden.”
“All right, Teddie,” acquiesced her counsel-at-law, without a break in his solemnity. “But the first thing you must tell me is just what you intend doing.”
“I don’t know what to do. That’s why I came to see you. That’s what I’m willing to pay you for. But it’s not entirely unnatural, I think, to nurse a fixed aversion to be chased around the map by an army of reporters and subpœna-servers.”
“There are several things, of course, that we can do,” explained Gerry, quite unruffled by this unmasking of the guns of irony. “But before we go any further there’s a phase or two of the case I must understand. It was in your studio, you say, that this assault took place?”