“That’s right So I am. Me, the perfect stranger, see? I haven’t a friend between here and Pittsburg. The girl is new to me. But she was there with the bells on, just the same. I know a real one when I see her, even if I don’t mix with the motor-car owners. I thinks she’s a friend of yours because she treated me right, and because she asked me about the same line of questions as you handed me.”
“It is possible that I know her. Did she tell you her name.”
“Sure. And her address.” He took a card from his pocket and read:
“Dallas Gilbert,
The Girls’ Club, Mulberry Street.”
He looked up and continued: “It’s one of these things that rich girls get up for poor ones. And she said she was there every Wednesday and Friday night; and she also hinted, if I ever found anything out about this Selden’s Square thing, to drop around there and tell her about it.”
“And I’ll ask you to do the same,” said Kenyon. He wrote the name of his hotel on one of his own cards and handed it to the pugilist. “It’ll be worth your while.”
“So her name is Gilbert, eh?” said Webster, when they reached the street. “And she’s a girl addicted to helping the poor. I say, Kenyon, that sounds rather good.”
Kenyon looked at his watch.
“I’ll be saying good-night,” remarked he.
“It’s not quite 9.30, and I’ll probably get there at a decent time.”