Dorothy’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.
“I don’t get you,” she said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why, if what the newspapers say is true, you simply eat up this gangster stuff—a whiz at solving all kinds of mysteries.”
“Nice lady-like reputation, what?” she mocked.
“Well, that’s all right with me. Because now—I have no hesitancy in telling you all I know about this queer business. You’ll probably know just what to do—and you’ll be a wonderful help.”
“How about me?” Betty was a direct little person and seemed at no pains to disguise her feelings. “I don’t think you’re a bit polite, George!”
“Oh, I feel differently about you—” stammered that young man, then stopped short and looked painfully embarrassed.
Dorothy thought it time she took matters into her own hands.
“Don’t be silly, Betty, George knows how clever you are!” She flashed a mischievous glance at her friend, then went on in a serious tone. “And of course we’re keen to hear all about it, George, and we’ll do anything we can to help you. But your story will keep a while longer. I hope you don’t mind my mentioning such a prosaic thing—but do you happen to have anything to eat in the house?”
“Oh, my gosh! Of course I have—” he threw a glance at the clock and jumped to his feet. “It’s nearly eight o’clock. You girls must be starved! Sit right here and I’ll bring supper in a jiffy. I was just about to eat mine when those two thugs dropped in and put an end to it for the time being.”