"Alice Hawthorne," with an oblique glance at me.
I had been right!
"What is your occupation? I am obliged to ask these questions, Miss."
"I am a miniature painter,"—briefly,
Hamilton came forward. "Alice Hawthorne? Pardon me, but are you the artist who recently completed the miniatures of the Emperor of Germany, the Princess of Hesse, and Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds?"
"I am. I believe there is no further reason for detaining me."
"Emperor of Germany?" echoed the now bewildered chief. "Why didn't you tell all this to Mr. Haggerty?"
"I had my reasons."
Once again the door opened. A burly man in a dark business-suit entered. His face ruddy and his little grey eyes sparkled with suppressed ire. He reminded me of Vautrin, the only difference being that Vautrin was French while this man was distinctly Irish. His massive shoulders betrayed tremendous strength. He was vastly angry about something. He went to the chief's desk and rested his hands upon it.
"You are a nice specimen for a chief of police, you are!" he began.