Crowley, trying hard to tell the truth for once, stammered and stumbled over the amazing details of the lovemaking between Latisan and Miss Kennard. The chief found the really veracious recital beyond belief.
“She wouldn’t offer to marry him, standing there in public,” stormed Mern. “I know Kennard. She isn’t that sort. I’ll go to the bottom of this thing, even if it means a trip for me to that God-forsaken tank town. I’d give a thousand dollars to see Lida Kennard walk in through that door. I was never so worried about anything in all my life,” he lamented. “Crowley, you deserted the most valuable person I have ever had in my office—and God knows what has happened to her.” He sent them away.
“What does it get anybody to tell the truth?” grumbled Crowley.
“Nothing, when it sounds so ridiculous as the truth in this case,” averred Miss Elsham. “Everybody seems to go crazy up in the tall timbers. Give me the tall buildings for mine after this.”
In high good humor Rufus Craig appeared to Mern that afternoon a little before three o’clock. He sat down, pulled out the slide leaf of Mern’s desk, and produced a check book. “No need my seeing Exhibit A before settling. Tell me the expense account. I’ll include everything in one check.”
With pen poised, waiting until the figures were brought in, the Comas man expressed his satisfaction. “There were three on the job, so I was told in Adonia when I came through. That’s all right, Mern. I expected you to use your own judgment. I didn’t have much time in Adonia—grabbed what information I could while waiting for the train to start—but it’s a sure bet that Latisan is off for good. From what I heard it was your Miss Jones who really put it over—gave Latisan what they call up there the Big Laugh. Now who the blazes is this Miss Jones?”
“An operative of ours,” the chief replied, with repression of enthusiasm decidedly in contrast with Craig’s indorsement of her. Mern did not dare to be other than vague, leaving Lida Kennard’s identity concealed until he could understand something about the inside affairs in his agency. The reflection that he was still in the dark—could not talk out to a client as a detective should—was stirring his sour indignation more and more.
“I’d like to meet her,” urged the director. “She must be a wonder. A great actress, I should judge, from what I was told in Adonia.”
“She’s having her vacation just now.”
“Look here, Mern! I’m going to stick a couple of hundred more onto this check. Send it along to her and tell her to have an extra week or a new dress at my expense. I’ve made a side-line clean-up on the Tomah this season and money is easy with me.” That was as explicit as Craig cared to be in regard to the deal with the Walpole heir. Still poising his pen, the director turned expectant gaze on the door when the knob was turned; a flurried, fat girl whose manner showed that she was new to the place had received Mern’s orders about the figures; now she came bringing them.