“Was the artful person angry at the publicity given the matter?”
“No!”
“What did she say?”
“I can’t remember exactly, but I think she said ‘Gee.’”
“Of course I shall be for dismissing the young person, but Mr. Theodore Burnett evidently thinks otherwise. These young men think they know it all, but I have not dealt with crime all these years without acquiring some knowledge of the youthful criminals. There is no reforming them. Well, Miss Polly, I thank you for cooperating so wonderfully with me in this matter. And you are not angry that the story—er—er—concerning the coffee and doughnuts and er—er—the pink parasol should have leaked out?”
Mrs. Leslie’s: “Old idiot!” slipped out before she knew it but Major Simpson’s: “What? What?” brought her to her senses and she covered her retreat with a cough and smoothed things down by: “Old intimate friends,” hoping that intimate and idiot might sound more or less alike over a telephone.
“Of course you will not let this young person remain under your roof,” the Major proceeded. “I feel in a measure er—er—responsible for you, Miss Polly, and hope you will allow me to dictate to you to some extent. This young woman, even though Mr. Theodore Burnett is so soft hearted as to keep her in the employ of his firm, is hardly a fit person to associate with you or your—er—er—charming daughter—because I am sure she is charming if she is your daughter. I wish you would promise me that this O’Gorman person will not remain in your home another night.”
Mrs. Leslie hung up the receiver with a click. She was possessed with a fury against the interfering Major that made it impossible to continue the conversation although all that it entailed at her end was a monosyllabic reply. She could well picture him at the other end of the line, indignantly upraiding the telephone operator for having so rudely cut him off. Her bell rang again sharply but she scorned answering it and went about her combined business of bed airing and female sleuthing with added vigor.
“Miserable old man that he is! Wants me to turn a girl out in the street just because he has made up his mind she is a thief. I don’t feel bad any longer about hoodwinking the old idiot. He is narrow and mean or he wouldn’t ask me to do it.”
Josie was right in her guess—Madame Kambourian did not leave the house that day. She, too, found many things to busy her on that bright Monday. Much sorting and airing seemed to be going on in the apartment next to the Leslies. Several times Mrs. Leslie looked up from her labors and saw the pleasant, plump countenance of Mrs. Kambourian peering at her from the open window. Once she nodded and a cheerful “Good mor-r-rning,” was the response.