He was a detective, but he was also a man; must he in willful ignorance of the consequences, deliver her to the tender mercies of Madame Dumois? She had trusted him, she had replied in simple faith to the decoy advertisement and placed herself in his hands. Madame Dumois had also given him her confidence, relying upon his professional honor. Which would be the greater betrayal?
Detective McCormick was in the best of humors, and shook hands heartily with his young operative.
"My boy, that was the finest bit of sheer luck that has come our way in many a long day!" he exclaimed. "Your running into Ide hanging around the gates of that place out on the North Drive has given the whole investigation a new turn, and I shouldn't wonder if the results would be sensational."
"I wouldn't be too sanguine, sir." Ross spoke with curious repression. "It was dusk, as I told you, and I only had a momentary glimpse as I flashed past in a taxi. I may have been mistaken."
"You didn't think so the other day." The Chief turned in his swivel chair and stared up at him. "You were sure enough then of the identification, and I think myself that you were right. I've had the place covered ever since, and there's something queer doing there, as sure as shooting!"
"Doesn't seem likely." Ross shook his head. "People of the social standing of those who live on the North Drive couldn't be mixed up in any game of Ide's. What did you mean 'queer,' sir? Who's on the job?"
"Clark. The house is owned by a woman named Atterbury; lived there for years and seems to rate A1 in the neighborhood, but she's laying mighty low, too low for a person who is on the level. She's comparatively young and a good looker, but she lives like a hermit, and there's a young girl in the household, a girl with a scar on her face, who will bear watching."
"I think it's a mistake, sir, it must be." Ross spoke with all the assurance he could command. "There's nothing wrong with the Atterbury woman, and as for the girl—"
"As for her, what?" demanded his chief, as he paused. "What do you know about them?"
"Nothing, except in a general way," he hedged lamely. "But if she's the Mrs. Atterbury I imagine, Clark is barking up the wrong tree and he'll only make a fool of himself if you let him push this matter. Ide—if it was really Ide whom I saw—may have been passing by. That is a blind trail, Chief."