"He shall!" Miss Metoaca's tone spoke volumes as she reluctantly began undressing.
Deftly the women detectives went about their work. Nothing escaped their notice. Garments were held up to the light to see if anything lay concealed in the linings, some were ripped open; their shoes were examined with care. Nothing was discovered.
"I hope you are satisfied," snapped Miss Metoaca, hot in spirit, but decidedly cold physically. "I do not enjoy impersonating Eve. Give me those underclothes at once!"
Miss Watt handed her the necessary articles. "Take down your hair," she directed.
Miss Metoaca stopped dressing, one stocking suspended in air.
"What?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Is nothing above suspicion?" She whirled around and saw the other detective cutting open a pincushion. "Mercy sakes, what do you think you will find in that?"
"Quinine," answered the woman curtly. But her search was not rewarded, and she threw the useless pincushion on the floor.
Without a word Nancy let down her hair. It fell in profusion over her shoulders and down her back. Quickly the detective ran her fingers over the girl's head. Without further ado Miss Watt did the same with Miss Metoaca's scant gray locks.
"You can put on your clothes," she said, more kindly, and with skillful fingers she assisted Miss Metoaca into her dress, and helped her arrange her hair.
"Well!" Miss Metoaca drew a long breath. "I have been through a good deal in my life, but I reckon this beats creation. I look like a scarecrow! Nancy, are you ready? Yes. Then, perhaps, Miss Watt, you will be good enough to inform that apology for a gentleman, Captain Lloyd, that I would like to see him."