“McGuire is a bit shy of romantic matters. He means are you and Miss Austin lovers?”
“We are,” said Lockwood, emphatically. “She is my fiancee—”
“All right,” said Fibsy, “then I’ll find her. She hasn’t done anything rash, in that case.”
He wagged his wise little head.
“Where is she?” Stone asked, confident that the boy could tell. He knew of Fibsy’s almost clairvoyant powers of divining truth in certain situations.
“Want her here?” he asked, laconically.
“Yes.”
“I’ll get her.”
Snatching his cap, he darted from the house, but he was closely followed by Maurice Trask. Lockwood would have stopped Trask, but Stone said:
“Let him go. This thing is coming to a crisis—Trask will help it along.”