"I wonder what she wants to tell me," said John.
"Tell US, you mean," Brennan amended. "You don't think you're not going to take me along with you, do you?"
A few minutes after 8 o'clock that evening John and Brennan returned to the scene of their adventure of the afternoon. John rapped on the door and the girl spoke to them without opening it.
"Who is it, please?" she asked.
"It's the reporter you spoke to this afternoon," John said, and the door swung open. The girl stood with her hand on the knob. She glanced inquiringly toward Brennan.
"My partner," John explained.
"Come in," she invited, with a friendly smile.
She waited until they had entered and then closed the door behind them, locking it carefully. Without speaking she led them into a sitting room, artistically furnished, lighted only by a rose-shaded table lamp. She motioned them to a deep-cushioned davenport and seated herself in a chair under the light from the lamp.
There was no doubt about it, she was pretty! Her blonde hair shone in the light and the shadows about her eyes added to their beauty. Her face was round and piquant, her lips a deep crimson and tiny. Her one-piece dress on which beads sparkled, exposed a delicately rounded throat and slender white arms. Her hands were small and white and her fingernails were highly polished. Sheer silk stockings and neat, expensive shoes. A hint of cheapness about her; perhaps it was the unnatural thinness of the delicately arched eyebrows, John thought; or perhaps the shortness of her skirt; but she was pretty!
"I suppose you understand that I am Mrs. Hatch?" she said.