“I can’t answer those questions. You must ask Mr. Hilton.”
“Do you want to tell me anything about James Ponsardin?”
The girl started. She folded the call-sheet by running it through her fingers.
“No, I don’t! You’ll have to see him.”
Fay fished in his pocket and brought forth the same card he had before shown to the girl.
“You’ll find me at Mr. George Mott’s office. Please call me up if you discover anything. Ask those two drivers whom you didn’t question. Help us in every way. This murder is an international matter. Keep thinking about what happened last night. We must find the murderer!”
Fay laid the card on the desk, bowed slightly toward the silent girl, nodded to the stenographer, and joined Rake in the run-way of the garage.
The big ex-convict was staring at the group of drivers who were awaiting assignments. He smiled broadly as he felt Fay’s hand on his shoulder.
“Some bunch, Chester!”