“A Mr. Peter Manton to see me,” she said aloud. “But I know no Señor Manton. Tell him——”
In a flash Larry was at her side.
“That’s another reporter,” he whispered. “My rival. He’s on the Scorcher. Don’t give him the story.”
“What shall I do? If I do not see him, he may print some terribly untrue story, and——”
“That’s just what the Scorcher would be likely to do, anyhow,” agreed Larry, “though Pete isn’t such a bad sort himself. Let me think. I’ll tell you. Can’t you fool him in some way? Sort of string him along until I get away, and have my story in the first edition of the Leader. Then I don’t care what he prints.”
“Yes, yes! I see. You mean to ‘scoop’ him!”
“That’s it.”
“And I will help you!” The singer was excited now, and she was more like herself, a great actress. “I will fool him! I and Goegi, my maid. We will change places. She shall be the mistress, and I the maid. Remember, Goegi, you are the singer, and I am your attendant. And you speak no English. Do not forget that. I will have to translate what you say to this reporter. We will see him up here, when Señor Dexter has gone. Is it not so?” she asked, turning to Larry.
“Fine!” he cried. “That ought to fool him all right. I’ll hurry in now. Detain him as long as you can. It will be some little while until we can get out an extra on this.”
“I will see Señor Manton in a few minutes,” spoke Madame Androletti over the wire, which she had held open.