“What nonsense!” but Fifi paled a little under her delicate rouge.
“No nonsense whatsomever. But here’s the point. Was there a witness to that conversation?”
“Why, let me see. We talked it over at the matinee—we were alone then—but, yes, of course—I recollect now—that same evening Eunice was here and Mr. Hendricks was, too, and Mr. Patterson—he lives in their apartment house—the Embury’s, I mean-and we all talked about it! There! I guess that’s witnesses enough!”
“I guess it is. But take it from me, lady, you’re too pretty to get into a bothersome lawsuit—and I advise you to keep on the sunny side of the street, and let these shady matters alone.”
“I’ll gladly do so—honest, I don’t want to get Eunice in bad—”
“Oh, no! we all know you don’t want to get her in bad—unless it can be done with abserlute safety to your own precious self. Well—it can’t, ma’am. You keep on like you’ve begun—and your middle name’ll soon be trouble! Good morning, ma’am.”
Fibsy rose, bowed and left the room so suddenly that Fifi hadn’t time to stop him if she had wanted to. And he left behind him a decidedly scared little woman.
Fibsy then went straight to the offices of Mason Elliott.
He was admitted and given an audience at once.
“What is it, McGuire?” asked the broker.