Dorothy turned sideways so that only her profile would be exposed to view, if either of the men chanced to glance over his shoulder.
Suddenly she stiffened, for, coming to her with a startling distinctness above the noise and chatter all about her, she heard a familiar name.
It was a very familiar name. The two men were talking about Garry Knapp!
“What is the matter, Doro?” asked Tavia, looking at her curiously. “You resemble a storybook detective on the eve of a startling discovery.”
Dorothy motioned her sharply to be still.
“They are talking of Garry,” she explained, in a tense whisper.
“Who? When? Where?” cried Tavia, screwing her head about most absurdly in a vain effort to bring the entire dining room within her range of vision at the same time. “What do you mean, Doro?”
Dorothy gestured toward the two men at the table next to them, at the same moment making an imploring gesture pleading silence.
“Why, Stanley Blake and his dear little friend!” exclaimed Tavia in a tone of pleased surprise. “Always turning up like the proverbial bad penny, aren’t they, Doro? Do you mind if I ask them to join us?”
She half rose from the table as if about to carry out her preposterous threat, but Dorothy seized her fiercely by the arm and forced her back into her seat.