"Yes."
"Thanks." The man turned abruptly and ran down the steps.
The maid ran back to Jones.
"Why didn't you call me?" he demanded impatiently.
"There wasn't time."
"Did you tell him where she was?"
"Yes. But I shouldn't have told him if Mr. Norton had not been with Miss Florence."
Jones ran to the front, dashed out, eyed the back of the man hastening down the street, smiled, and returned to his work, or, rather, to the maid. He took her by the shoulder, whirled her about, and shot a look into her eyes that quailed her.
"Always call me hereafter, no matter what I'm doing. That man has never laid eyes on Florence and has no idea what she looks like. Why did you drug my coffee the night of that ball?"
She stepped back.