“Certainly!”
“Thanks,” throated the operative, passing through the portières with renewed energy. “Thanks,” he added under his breath as he started picking up the plaster casts and tools. “That’s how we caught ‘Cutbert,’ and I’ll nurse the bird like a Grand Opera singer.”
Loris glided from out the curtains and crossed the room. She stood a moment under a cone of soft light which reflected downward and brought out every detail of her gown and girlish figure. She turned and smiled widely at Drew who stood by the portières.
“I’ve almost forgotten something,” she said, drawing out a chair and sitting down with a graceful sweep of her skirt. “I’ve forgotten that you are tired and that you have worked hard.”
“Not at all,” said Drew.
“Yes, you are tired and you have worked very hard. Harry will bear me out in that. He was just saying that you would make a good major of overseas forces. Why don’t you join the army?”
Drew reached into his right hand trouser pocket. He brought his hand out with a small gold badge between his fingers. “I’ve already joined the army,” he said. “This is a Secret Service badge. Don’t you know that much work can be done over on this side? A burnt warehouse, for instance, is equal to a victory for the Kaiser. My agency is almost exclusively devoted to Government work. We never mention it, though.”
“I see,” said Loris, reaching into a pigeonhole and drawing out a small yellow check-book. “I’m glad,” she added, picking up a mother-of-pearl penholder and inspecting the pen-point. “I rather thought you would do your share. I think everybody should to the limit of their pocketbook and ability. Harry is.”
Drew bowed slightly. “That’s right, stick by Harry,” he said to himself. “She’s a sticker and then some,” he added, frowning toward the check-book and the poised pen.
“Mr. Drew?”