"Mr. Courtney, a year or two ago, when I was on the stage with my hypnotic turn, I had a girl-assistant. When I talked with Sir Henry Merrivale (again at that same interview), I was off guard: I made a slip of speech; and I almost mentioned that young lady's name."
Courtney nodded.
"Yes," he said. "The girl's name was Polly Allen, wasn't it?"
Sixteen
Rich's face was hot and bitter.
"And I daresay the police know that too?"
"No. At least, not yet. Though they're bound to find it out if they inquire at the theatrical agencies. I only guessed it because I kept thinking of your expression; and that Polly Allen was on the stage, but wouldn't say in what. I'd been thinking a good deal about that girl, because of her resemblance to…"
He stopped.
Ann, her chin lifted, had fastened troubled and puzzled eyes on him.
"Yes, you're quite right," admitted Rich, turning out his wrist. "Polly was the girl. You see my position, don't you?"