Hastily, in as few words as possible, Hedin recited the facts as he knew them, while an angry flush mounted to the old man's face.
McNabb reached for the telephone and called a number. "Hello! Is that you, Jean? Come to the store at once, and bring your new fur coat—to my office. . . . What? No, that won't do, at all. Bring it yourself—I'm waitin'."
"I'll step outside while Jean—while Miss McNabb——"
"Ye'll stay where ye are!" snapped McNabb.
The older man turned to his desk, where for ten minutes he opened and closed drawers and rustled papers viciously. Then the door opened and Jean herself stepped into the room with the fur coat over her arm. "Well, Dad, here's the coat." She paused abruptly, glanced inquiringly at Hedin, nodded coolly, and continued, "Oskar said it needed a little tailoring, and that I was to bring it down this morning, but I didn't think there was any tearing hurry about it."
Her father took the garment, smoothed the fur with his hand, and asked casually, "Is this the coat ye wore from the store?"
"Why, of course it is."
"An' the one ye wore to the show?"
"Yes, yes," answered the girl impatiently. "I haven't so many fur coats that I would be apt to get them mixed."
McNabb ignored the impatience. "Ye've had no other coat in your possession since you selected this one?"