The manager came rushing up. “I won’t have it!” he spluttered. “You can’t go into the dressing rooms. My customers wouldn’t stand for it. This is an unpardonable, unwarranted outrage!”
“Wait a minute,” Clancy said to the cops. Then he turned on the manager. “Do you think I care what you’ve got to say? A woman came in her five minutes ago and she’s still here. Where did she go?”
The manager wrung his hands. “I put her in that dressing room,” he said, pointing to an empty room near one of the alcoves. “She’s vanished. I didn’t see what happened to her.”
“Well, she’s somewhere around,” Clancy said, between his teeth. “Send one of your dames into all those rooms and get every woman out of ’em.”
“This should be good,” I said. “A great out-door playboy like you wouldn’t know that dames go in those rooms to undress.”
“Keep out of this!” Clancy bellowed. “I’m going to find that dame if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It certainly will be the last thing you do if you drive a lot of undressed society dames out of hiding,” I returned. “Captain Summers’ wife buys stuff here.”
He pushed his face into mine. “If you don’t pipe down, I’ll make you sorry you were born,” he said violently, but I could see that I’d shaken him. “You want this girl to get away, don’t you? Well, she ain’t getting away.”
I shrugged. “Go ahead,” I said. “It’s your funeral.”
He turned back to the manager. “Get ’em out!” he ordered. “Everyone of ’em. She’s hiding somewhere in those rooms and she’s wanted for murder!”