"Where are you stopping? What are you doing? How are you getting along on the case?" pleaded Mary Louise, so softly that no one else could overhear.
Josie maintained silence. Her features were expressionless.
"I know you told me, in case we met, not to recognize you," continued Mary Louise, "but I'm so anxious for news, dear! Can't you come home, to-night, and have a good talk with me? You owe me that much consideration. Josie."
The car stopped at a street intersection. Josie stood up.
"Not to-night," she replied, and alighted from the car just as it started to move again.
"Bother Mary Louise!" she muttered, "she has made me walk three whole blocks."
Mary Louise was human and she was provoked. There was really no need for Josie O'Gorman to be so absurdly mysterious. Had she not known her so well, Mary Louise would have felt that Josie had deliberately insulted her. As it was, she blamed her friend for inexcusable affectation. "I'm not sure," she reflected, "that a girl can be a detective—a regular detective—without spoiling her disposition or losing to some an extent her maidenly modesty. Of course, Josie has been brought up in an atmosphere of mystery and can't be blamed for her peculiarities, but—-I'm glad I'm not a detective's daughter."
Josie, however, wasn't worrying over any resentment her friend might feel at the necessary snub. She was on a keen scent and already had forgotten her meeting with Mary Louise. Three blocks farther on she turned into the walk leading to an old but picturesque residence, at one time a "show place" of Dorfield and the pride of the Dudley-Markhams, but now overshadowed by modern and more imposing mansions.
Josie rang the door-bell and presently the door was opened by a young and rather untidy maid.
"I'd like to see Professor Dyer," said Josie.