Then she turned and beckoned to my Fifth-Avenue-looking backwoodsman—with a smile of triumph.
"Him?" I asked in surprise.
She was looking in his direction, so failed to see the expression of my face.
"It's no more than he deserves—having this American Revolution rubbed in on him," she observed absently. "I have never worked so hard in my life over any one man as I have over this identical Maitland Tait!"
I saw him rise and come toward her—then I began having trouble with my throat. I couldn't breathe very easily.
"Maitland Tait!" I gasped.
"Yes—the Maitland Tait!"
Her voice sounded with a brass-band echo of victory.
"But how did you—"
"By outwitting Pollie Kendall—plague take her!"