“I know nothing of either party,” was the calm answer. “I couldn’t help overhearing this fellow insulting a lady, so put him where he belongs—in the gutter.”
“Mr. Clancy,” interrupted the sergeant, “you’re wanted on the phone.”
The detective was detained a good five minutes. When he returned he walked straight up to Fowle.
“Quit!” he said, with a scornful and sidelong jerk of the head. “You got what you wanted. Get out, and leave Miss Bartlett alone in the future.”
Fowle needed no second bidding.
“As for me?” inquired Carshaw, with arched eyebrows.
“May I drop you in Madison Avenue?” said Clancy. Once the police car was speeding down-town he grew chatty.
“Wish I had seen you trimming Fowle,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve a notion he had a finger in the pie of Winifred Bartlett’s dismissal.”
“It may be.”