“Somebody does, and he nearly cooked me and a friend of mine—nearly cooked us good!”
He saw her frown. Since she was a woman he expected her to be an actress, but somehow he was ready to believe in her sincerity.
“There’s been a gas attack on Caverley House,” he explained, “and not cooking gas either. I guess you’ll smell it as you go up.”
“What kind of gas—poison?”
Elk nodded.
“But who put it there—emptied it, or whatever is done with gas?”
Elk looked at her with that wounded expression which so justly irritated his victims.
“If I knew, Lola, would I be standing here discussing the matter? Maybe my old friend Shylock Holmes would, but I wouldn’t. I don’t know. It was upset in Mr. Broad’s flat.”
“That is the American who lives opposite to us—to me,” she said. “I’ve only seen him once. He seems a nice man.”
“Somebody didn’t think so,” said Elk. “I say, Lola, what’s that boy doing—young Bennett?”