“If we all do our share in the matter, perhaps we can arrange things,” Genevieve said, speaking very seriously. “I’ve something to say, for I am engaged to Curtis Keefe myself.”
“Does he think you are?” Stone said, rather casually.
Miss Lane had the grace to blush, through her rouge, but she declared: “He doesn’t want to,” and added, “but he ought to. He has made love to me, and he once asked me to marry him. But since then he has said he didn’t mean it. I don’t suppose I’ve enough evidence for a breach of promise suit, but—oh, well,” and she tossed her pretty head, “I’ve not the least doubt that if Miss Wheeler were out of the question—say, safely married to Mr. Allen, I’d have no trouble in whistling my Curtie back.”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t!” Fibsy looked at her admiringly. “If I were only a few years older——”
“Hush, Terence,” said Fleming Stone, “don’t talk nonsense.”
Immediately Fibsy’s face became serious and he turned his attention away from the fascinating Genevieve.
“But all this is aside the question of the murderer, Mr. Stone,” said Allen. “How are you progressing with that investigation?”
“Better than I’ve disclosed as yet,” Stone returned, speaking slowly; “recent developments have been helpful, and I hope to be ready soon to give a report.”
“You expect Mr. Appleby down?”
“Yes; to-night or to-morrow. By that time I hope to be ready to make an arrest.”