Craig frowned while he wrote the check after the girl had retired.
He was a bit pettish when he snapped his check book shut. “Say, Mern, I always like to see that Kennard girl when I come into your office. I like her looks. I like the way she puts out her hand to a man.”
“I’m sorry she isn’t here. But she’s—she’s out—sick.”
“Good gad! I hope it’s nothing serious.” Craig showed real concern.
“Oh no! Just a—a rather severe cold.” The chief was having hard work to conceal his mental state—being obliged to lie that way, like a fool, in order to hide the mystery in his own office!
“Give me her street number. I’ll send up a bunch of flowers.”
“She is out with some friends in the country to get clean air. I don’t know the address.”
Mern perceived that more questions were coming. Craig was frankly revealing his interest in Miss Kennard.
The chief pulled out his watch; he had a good excuse for changing an embarrassing subject. “Latisan is about due. Of course, you don’t want to be seen. I’ll post you in one of the side consulting rooms.”
“It seems rather silly, this spying,” remonstrated Craig. “I’m taking your word about Latisan. I’m getting ready to start north, and have a lot of matters to look after.”