“Another of your ‘familiar quotations,’” chaffed Prescott.
“Another good rule,” retorted the attorney, and went out in the hall.
Prescott followed and together they went to the Mansfields’ apartment.
“We’ve been thinking it over,” Mrs Mansfield said, after she had admitted her callers and taken them to her living room, “and my husband and I feel we ought to tell all we know.”
“You certainly ought to,” Belknap assured her.
“Well,” the blonde head nodded mysteriously, “that man, Gleason, he was a gay old bird.”
“Just what do you mean, Mrs Mansfield? Speak plainly,” adjured Belknap.
“Oh, well,” she shrugged her shoulders pettishly, for she was the sort of woman who loved innuendo better than statement. “I don’t know the girls, of course, I’m not in that class of society, but he did have gay looking girls coming to his apartment now and then.”
“Every day?” Belknap looked at her sharply.
“Oh, my land, no, not every day. Just now and then?”