“I don’t know why she wouldn’t. But you see, I don’t know all the places she went to, and——”
“Look here, Miss—you’ll have to give your name, you know.”
By this time the girl looked decidedly frightened. “I don’t want to,” she said, almost crying. “Let the old fur go—I don’t want it! I wish I’d kept out of this!”
“Tell me who sent you here, and you can keep out of it.”
The girl brightened decidedly, and looked at Belknap.
“Honest,” she said; “if I tell you who sent me, can I go home?”
“Certainly you may. I’ve no right to detain you.”
“All right, then, it was Mary Morton.”
“Address?”
She gave a street number in the Longacre district, and hurried away almost before Belknap finished writing it down.