“I'm not so certain of that,” and Holloway's smile was quizzical.
“What do you mean? Who is this Helene Marigold? I have a right to know in a case like this.”
“Good intuition, as far as you go. But you're guessing wrong, for she has nothing to do with my little joke. But why worry about her?” laughed Holloway. His friend had leaned forward, intensely, clutching his cane, with an unusually serious look on his face. Holloway had never seen Shirley take such an interest in any woman before. He arose from his desk-chair and walked to the broad window, which overlooked the thronging sidewalks of Broadway.
“Down there is the biggest, busiest street in the world filled with women of all hues and shades. This is the first time you ever looked so anxious about any combination of lace, curls, silks and gew-gaws before. You have been the bright and shining example of indifferent bachelor freedom which has made me—thrice divorced—so envious of your unalloyed, unalimonied joy. Don't betray the feet of clay which have supported my idol!”
The baffling smile of the debonair club man returned to Shirley's face, as he twitted back: “Purely an altruistic inquiry, Dick. I feared that you might be risking your own heart and the modicum of freedom which you still possess. But I'll wager a supper-party for four that I'll find out who she is, without either you or she telling me.”
“Taken. At last I'm to have a free banquet, after years of business entertaining. You have met a girl who will match your wits—I expect the sparks to fly. Well, she's worth while—I might do worse—but in perfect fairness she ought to do better. How about it?”
“Yes, with Jack,” and Shirley tapped the walking stick on the floor with an emphatic thump, while Holloway regarded him in startled surprise.
“Who is Jack?”
“You see—I am learning already. But, you and I are drifting from my task. I wish that you would take me to call on Miss Marigold, in my present lack of disguise. I do not care for that ancient garb any longer. It was stretching the chances rather far, but thanks to the darkness, the champagne, and good fortune, I succeeded in impersonating our aged friend without detection. I will not return to Grimsby's house, but propose now to get down to brass tacks with Mr. Voice, even though the tacks be hard to sit upon. I wish to use her as a bait, by taking her out to tea and getting a first-hand speaking acquaintance with these convivial assassins.”
“Monty, you are wasting your talents outside the pages of a play manuscript, but we will make that call instanter.”