“Oh, gay deceiver!” he exclaimed severely. “Oh, sly fox! Oh, foolish mortal to think you could keep a secret from the sharp eyes of Desperate Desmond, the Demon Detective of—er—Duluth.”
McCormick grinned.
“Discovered!” he moaned. “And I thought I had covered me tracks so well! Out with it, Dessy. Keep me no longer in suspenders.”
Fitzgerald rolled his eyes ceilingward.
“All day long have I felt a presentiment of approaching evil,” he groaned. “This morning a perfectly black cat winked at me——”
“The saucy thing!” interrupted Baxter. “I hope it wasn’t a lady cat.”
“Winked at me,” continued Fitz, frowning at him; “and that is always a bad omen. But I never thought of this. Even when you announced your trip to Hartford two days ago upon a most flimsy pretext, I did not suspect, but now I know.”
He paused and glared again at McCormick who was grinning from ear to ear. By this time the others were rather curious; Percy Joblots, in particular, sat gaping in astonishment, apparently not knowing quite how to take the erratic Fitzgerald.
“Spit it out, why don’t you?” demanded Buckhart. “You’ll throw a fit if you don’t.”
Fitz swallowed hard and rolled his eyes again.