"Yes, here he is!" exclaimed Moya, and sat like a statue in her chair. Yet the pose of the statue was not wholly suggestive of cold indifference and utter unconcern.
"Glad to find you in, Mr. Rigden," said the sergeant. "We're having a little bit of sport, for once in a way."
"I congratulate you. What sort?" said Rigden.
"A man-hunt!"
And there were volumes of past boredom and of present zest in the sergeant's tone.
"That so?" said Rigden. "And who's the man?"
The sergeant glanced at the young lady. Rigden did the same. Their wishes with respect to her were only too obvious. Moya took the fiercer joy in disregarding them.
"I'd like to have a word with you in the store," said the sergeant.
"No, no!" said Rigden hastily. "Sergeant Harkness—Miss Bethune."
It was a cold little bow, despite this triumph.