“You have put your finger on a vital flaw in the usual Smarty-Cat detective,” I laughed. “But I know of a splendid man. He is eccentric, I admit, but beyond that he has none of the earmarks of the Transcendental Detective of the story-books. He is intelligent rather than cocksure and efficient rather than spectacular. He is expensive, but no more so than his success warrants.”
“That sounds well. But first, Mr. Brice, can’t we do a little investigating by ourselves? I had hoped so. To engage a detective is to make the whole affair so public, and I shrink from that.”
“Not necessarily, Miss Raynor. If the man I speak of should take the case, he would make no fuss or stir about it. And if you say so, he can also try to find the man who killed Amos Gately.”
“Oh, that is what I want! Yes, let us retain—or whatever the procedure is, your detective. What is his name?”
“Don’t laugh, but it is Penny Wise!”
“What? How ridiculous!”
“Yes, but true. Pennington Wise is on his visiting cards, but no human nature could refrain from the inevitable nickname.”
“He ought to change that name! It’s enough to belittle any good work he might do!”
“Well, he doesn’t think so. In fact, he has become so used to having people joke about it that he only smiles perfunctorily and goes on about his business.”
“Will you ask him to help us?”