“Oh, please, Commissioner! Won't you let me go home?”
The use of a title higher than his own flattered the Inspector, and he was moved to graciousness. Besides, it was obvious that his police net in this instance had enmeshed only the most harmless of doves. He smiled encouragingly.
“Well, now, little lady,” he said, almost tenderly, “if I let you go now, will you promise to let me know if you are able to think of anything else about this Turner woman?”
“I will—indeed, I will!” came the fervent assurance. There was something almost—quite provocative in the flash of gratitude that shone forth from the blue eyes of the girl in that moment of her superlative relief. It moved Burke to a desire for rehabilitation in her estimation.
“Now, you see,” he went on in his heavy voice, yet very kindly, and with a sort of massive playfulness in his manner, “no one has hurt you—not even a little bit, after all. Now, you run right home to your mother.”
The girl did not need to be told twice. On the instant, she sprang up joyously, and started toward the door, with a final ravishing smile for the pleased official at the desk.
“I'll go just as fast as ever I can,” the musical voice made assurance blithely.
“Give my compliments to your father,” Burke requested courteously. “And tell him I'm sorry I frightened you.”
The girl turned at the door.... After all, too great haste might be indiscreet.
“I will, Commissioner,” she promised, with an arch smile. “And I know papa will be so grateful to you for all your kindness to me!”