I growled—
“According to report, concealment of birth. I conclude she was put to shame by some rogue, and couldn’t face the music. The child was found, three or four months ago, on a doorstep or somewhere, and traced to her. When the police entered, I suppose she feared the worst, and went off. Odd part is, that the infant itself was intact—as sound as a bell. But all that’s of little interest. It’s the case for me; not the sentiment.”
“Ah?” said Valentine.
He leaned forward, resting his long arms on his knees and gently clicking his fingers together. His eyes were full of an eager light.
“Johnny, I wonder if you could get me a sight of her?”
“Why not?” I answered. I felt that I owed him some atonement. “I’ll ask C—— if you like.”
II
C—— demurred, hummed and hawed, and acquiesced.
“Your friend must keep in the background,” he said. “He’s not a backstair reporter, I suppose?”
“He’s an independent gentleman, and either a poet or an ass—I don’t know which.”