Quest gripped him by the arm.
“French,” he said, “I tell you I shall make your hair curl when you hear all that we’ve been through. Do you feel like having me start in right away, on our way to the cars?”
French withdrew his arm.
“Nothing doing,” he replied. “I want to talk to Miss Laura. You can stow that criminal stuff. It’ll wait all right. You’ve got the fellow—that’s what matters.”
Quest exchanged an amused glance with Lenora. The Inspector and Laura fell a little behind. The former took off his hat for a moment and fanned himself.
“Say, Miss Laura,” he began, “I’m a plain man, and a poor hand at speeches. I’ve been saying a few nice things over to myself on the dock here for the last hour, but everything’s gone right out of my head. Look here, it sums up like this. How do you feel about quitting this bunch right away and coming back to New York with me?”
“What do I want to go to New York for?” Laura demanded.
“Oh, come on, Miss Laura, you know what I mean,” French replied. “We’ll slip off and get married here and then take this man Craig to New York. Once get him safely in the Tombs and we’ll go off on a honeymoon anywhere you say.”
Laura was on the point of laughing at him. Then the unwonted seriousness of his expression appealed suddenly to her sympathy. She patted him kindly on the shoulder.
“You’re a good sort, Inspector, but you’ve picked the wrong girl. I’ve run along on my own hook ever since I was born, I guess, and I can’t switch my ideas over to this married stuff. You’d better get a move on and get Craig back to New York before he slips us again. I’m going to stay here with the others.”