“How goes what?” asked Maud, who was not entirely in favour of the young lady, being herself of the type that can’t quite understand the flapper motif.
“Oh, the detective business in general. It intrigues me, you know. I sometimes think I’ll take a correspondence course in Sherlocking.”
“What are you doing to-day?” Lora said, pleasantly. “Why aren’t you at the McClellan’s tea?”
“Nixie on the switch! I like the subject I started better. And you needn’t scorn me so. I could a tale unfold....”
Annoyed beyond measure by this impudent minx, I rose and sauntered toward the house door.
But Lora had evidently caught a note of reality in the girl’s voice, for she said, almost sharply, “What do you know, Posy? If you know anything concerning the matter, it is your duty to tell of it.”
“I’d rather tell Mr. Moore,” she put on an air of importance. “He is at the head of the investigation, I assume.”
Lora smiled, in spite of herself, at the chit’s manner, but she only said, suavely:
“As a good wife, I am my husband’s helpmeet in all his business. And I assure you it will be better to tell me and let me pass it on to him, for he’s gone out, and I don’t know when he’ll get home again.”
“Do tell us,” Maud urged, helpfully. “We are all intrigued, as you say, with the case, and your assistance might prove invaluable.”