"I've glanced at her a couple of times, but I haven't seen her at all recently. Maybe she's ill."
"What does she look like—that's what I want to know."
"Um!" said Lawrence. "Grace of a gazelle, my boy. Would have made advances, my boy, if the other hadn't frozen me with a glance."
"Hair?"
"Auburn—distinct auburn, the shade I most prefer—and plenty of it. Eyes, a sort of gray—don't know exactly what you'd call 'em. And the girl can wear clothes. There's a subtle perfume about her, my boy——"
"And you only glanced at her a couple of times, eh? How old do you say she is?" Verbeck asked.
"Thirty," Lawrence replied. "Five feet six; weighs about a hundred and twenty-five, has magnificent shoulders——"
"I knew it!" Verbeck cried.
"Can you place her?" Kowen asked.
"It is only a guess, of course," said Verbeck. "But I think I know who she is. And I'm sure you'd be interested in meeting her, Kowen. You'll take such a fancy to her that you'll probably want to take her to jail and put her into a cage. Kowen, is that man of yours at the corner, do you suppose?"