It was a false play, for the young woman looked at Ida with a puzzled face.
Ida instantly saw it, and hastened to regain her ground.
“You do not answer my question,” she said. “How did you come to know of this intended robbery?”
“You are looking for Mr. Ellison,” said Miss Rainforth. “Of what use is that knowledge to you in such a search?”
“It is a step in the beginning,” replied Ida. “Understand, Miss Rainforth, you are related to this search, and to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Ellison, either remotely or intimately, and evasion on your part will only involve you in trouble—in all the shame and disgrace that publicity of the matter, which will soon be a sensation, will involve.”
The young woman winced, an anxious expression appearing on her face, and Ida knew that the string upon which she must pull was the one of the young lady’s fear of notoriety.
“I must insist upon an answer to that question,” she said. “There are many ways of conducting our business. As a rule, we work in secret, but there are times when we are forced to take the public in our confidence, and make a part of our search through the newspapers. We have no desire to do that at any time, but it begins to look as if we would have to do so in this case, and you can see the position you would be in—you, a young lady of fashion, placed before the public as an associate of thieves and the frequenter of fast places at midnight.”
The young woman leaped to her feet with the remark:
“You would not dare do such a thing.”
Ida laughed, scornfully.