As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto sat staring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives—"plain clothes men" from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be no chance of mistake about those police mustaches and jaws, those wide, square-toed, police shoes.
"My name is Casey and this is my side-partner, Mr. O'Rourke," said the shorter and fatter of the two as they seated themselves without waiting to be asked. Casey took off his hat; O'Rourke's hand hesitated at the brim, then drew his hat more firmly down upon his forehead. "Sorry to break in on your little party," Casey went on, "but the Cap'n sent us to ask the young lady a few questions."
Hilda grew pale and her father and Otto looked frightened.
"Do you know an actor named Feuerstein?" asked Casey.
Hilda trembled. She could not speak. She nodded assent.
"Did you see him to-day?"
"Yes," almost whispered Hilda.
Casey looked triumphantly at O'Rourke. Otto half rose, then sank back again. "Where did you see him?" asked Casey.
"Here."
"Where else?"