“Upon my word!” Rodgers shook a bewildered head. “What are you driving at, Oscar?”
“Find dat coat, Sah, an’ then yo’ll know all. ’Deed, Massa, I ain’t lyin’.” Oscar’s voice shook with feeling. “Please, Sah, do as I ax. It’s fo’ Miss Kitty.”
“Very well.” Rodgers came to a sudden decision. “I’ll do my best to aid Miss Kitty, even if I do it blindfolded. But, see here, Oscar, wouldn’t it be simpler to ask Miss Kitty for her coat?”
“She mustn’t know nawthin’!” Oscar spoke in genuine alarm. “She—she ain’t had it fo’ mos’ some time—” His lips trembled a bit and he touched them with the tips of his fingers. “The coat ain’t with none o’ her clothes, ’cause I’se searched the house, Massa, an’ Miss Kitty’ll be everlastin’ grateful to yo’. But—” his voice dropped to a husky whisper—“yo’ git it befo’ de police does.”
Engrossed in their conversation, Rodgers had failed to note that Oscar had gradually edged his way to the top step. With an agility which took Rodgers completely by surprise the old negro whisked down the walk which skirted the mansion and disappeared from sight.
With an oath Rodgers pursued him down the walk, only to reach the side door and have it slammed in his face. Repeated knocking brought no response, and after circling the mansion in the hope of finding an entrance, if not a glimpse of Oscar, he finally returned to his car and started for Washington much perturbed in mind.
On reaching Washington, Rodgers ran the car toward Pennsylvania Avenue, stopping en route to purchase a can of Mobiloil. It did not take him long to drive to a garage in an alley to the south of the Avenue. At his hail the owner of the small shop came out.
“How’dy, Mr. Rodgers,” he exclaimed, touching his soiled cap. “How’s the car going?”
“All right, but I want the oil drained out, Sam,” handing, as he spoke, the can of Mobiloil to the mechanic. “How is business?”
“Oh, so so.” Sam glanced about the wide alley. “Pull up to this side, Sir; I can get at the car better here.”