The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish.
“Ah, Helen,” he said smilingly. “Whither bound?”
“To see Belasco’s latest. Isn’t that lucky? The very thing I wanted. Poor Ronald! I don’t know what has become of him, or into what net he may have fallen.”
The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy.
“I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow,” went on Mrs. Tower.
“How could I forget?” he retorted gallantly. “Only two hours ago I postponed a business appointment on account of it.”
“So good of you, Senator,” and Mrs. Tower’s smile lent a tinge of sarcasm to the words. “I’m awfully anxious that you should meet Mr. Jacob. I’m deeply interested, you know.”
Meiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady’s companion, who, however, was merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator resented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman, hovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike eyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation.
The Senator coughed, and lowered his voice.
“I shall be most pleased to discuss matters with him,” he said. “It will be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it.”