“Good morning,” he laughed; and at once the connection was severed.
“And that’s all right!” he announced cheerfully, swinging round to face Iff. “She was in a taxicab accident and got lost in Central Park—just got home, I infer. The necklace is safe and I’m to call and get it at twelve o’clock.”
“Where’s she stopping?” demanded Iff, shaking his little head as though impatient. Staff named the hotel, and Iff fairly jumped. “Why that’s impossible!” he cried. “She can’t afford it.”
“How do you happen to know she can’t?” enquired Staff, perplexed.
Momentarily Iff showed a face of confusion. “I know a lot of things,” he grumbled, evasively.
Staff waited a moment, then finding that the little man didn’t purpose making any more adequate or satisfactory explanation, observed: “It happens that she’s Mrs. Ilkington’s guest, and I fancy Mrs. Ilkington can afford it—unless you know more about her, too, than I do.”
Iff shook his head, dissatisfied. “All right,” he said wearily. “Now what’re you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to snatch a few hours’ sleep. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, now, with nothing to do before noon.”
“Pleasant dreams,” said Iff sourly, as Staff marched off to his bedroom.
Then he sat down on the edge of the divan, hugging the dressing-gown round him, scowled vindictively at nothing and began thoughtfully to gnaw a bony knuckle.