“And did you?”
“I learned that she is a harmless, but none the less, positively demented woman. I learned that she deceives herself—in a way, hypnotizes herself, and she believes she sees and hears things that she does not see and hear.”
“And tastes them? and smells them?”
“There, too, she deceives herself. Surely, you don’t take in that story of her ‘vision’?”
“I believe she believes it.”
“Yes, so do I. Now, look here, McGuire; I’m a good-natured sort, and I’m willing to overlook this raid of yours, if you’ll join forces. I can help you, but only if you’re frank and honest in whacking up with whatever info you have. I know something—you know something—will you go in cahoots?”
“I would, Mr. Hanlon,” and Fibsy looked regretful, “if I was my own boss. But, you see, I’m under orders. I’m F. Stone’s helper—and I’ll tell you what he says I may—and that’s all.”
“That goes. I don’t want any more than your boss lets you spill. And now, honest, what did you come here for?”
“To look in that wardrobe, as I said.”
“Why, bless your heart, child, you’re welcome to do that.”