“All right, Abbott.” Harrigan waved his hand pleasantly. He was becoming so used to the unvarying statement that Abbott would be up after dinner, that his reply was by now purely mechanical. “She’s getting her voice back all right; eh?”
“Beautifully! But I really don’t think she ought to sing at the Haines’ villa Sunday.”
“One song won’t hurt her. She’s made up her mind to sing. There’s nothing for us to do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?”
“Say, do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“Some one has come across to the police.”
“Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a hundred cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or New York. Why haven’t they moved? They can’t tell me that tow-headed chap’s alibi was on the level. I wish I’d been in Paris. There’d been something doing. And who was he? They refuse to give his name. And I can’t get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up with a bang when I mention it. Throws her nerves all out, she says. I’d like to get my hands on the blackguard.”
“So would I. It’s a puzzle. If he had molested her while she was a captive, you could understand. But he never came near her.”