Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. “One o’clock,” she said. “Don’t be late! Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way.”
Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further progress—even caught his arm.
Had the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and order he could not have displayed more bewilderment.
“You, Rachel?” he gasped.
The policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the shabbily dressed woman, who prevented him.
“It’s all right, officer,” he stammered vexedly. “I know this lady. She is an old friend.”
The man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No one would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had his back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable they uttered.
“He is here,” snapped the woman without other preamble. “You must see him.”
“It is quite impossible,” was the answer, and, though the words were frigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had to exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance.
“You dare not refuse,” persisted the woman.