Mr. Ferguson played a good game of poker; he prided himself upon his self-control. But the seriousness of his manner indicated that he was startled.
"Just what do you mean by that, Phil? You've come here to tell me something. What is it?"
So Kendrick told him, omitting nothing except the fact that the girl had dared him to kiss her, and that when he had done so he had gone in for an involuntary swim.
"And you let that woman go home alone at that hour of the morning? You are neglectful both of your opportunities and your etiquette!" but although the lawyer's tone was light he was very serious as he pursed his lips and scowled.
"Don't go blaming me, Blatch. As soon as I helped her ashore she ran off and the fog was so thick you couldn't see anybody within a couple of feet of you. I tried my best to find out who she was; but she ducked. Besides, how was I to know the thing mattered? I didn't know Uncle Milt was in town even—not at the time."
"I didn't say it mattered, Phil," said Ferguson hastily. He laughed at the idea. "Whatever put it into your head to think this—er—lady was spying on a—an ordinary business meeting? Supposing she was—why, what earthly good would it do her?"
"Search me, Blatch. Thought I'd better tell you about it anyway."
"Quite right, of course. Hm—just so. She got away without leaving a single clue, eh? Not that it matters in the least, but—— You did right in reporting it. Thanks."
"Would you mind telling me if you had anybody in the office here with you just before I came in? Or were you using the telephone?"
"Why," hesitated Ferguson in some surprise, "I was called on the 'phone by an old newspaper acquaintance—yes. Perhaps you know him—Hughey Podmore? He got a job recently as President Wade's private secretary—Canadian Lake Shores Railway. We used to work on the same paper long ago. Why?"