“I heard something today about Mary Dare crowning somebody with a chair,” he said. “What was it?”
“She crowned him, all right,” John chuckled. “They had to take six stitches in his scalp. Had it coming too, that fellow did. Mary’s good! Trouble is,” his voice took on a worried note, “she’s too blamed good. Get herself killed if she don’t look out.”
“But what happened?” Jimmie insisted.
“The office got a tip that a twelve-year-old girl was chained up in a basement somewhere on the west side; chained like a dog. The Police were about to look into it.
“Mary hopped right into a cab and beat the police to the spot, which sometimes isn’t such a hard thing to do.” John chuckled dryly.
“Well, when Mary gets there and sees that child with wrists and ankles black and blue, looking at her wild-eyed, she just hunts up a rock and cracks the lock as if it was a walnut.
“And just then—” John paused.
“Then what?” Jimmie demanded eagerly.
“Just then that man, father of the child, came in. He was a big brute and was furious. He’d chained the girl because she didn’t always obey him. Yes, she’d been there all day, and she’d stay all night if he chose. This was his house. That sort of talk, you know.” John drew in a deep breath.
“Then what?” Jimmie leaned forward in his chair.