"Who that dame in the taxicab was."
Carroll laughed infectiously.
"Goodness, no! If I had, I wouldn't be seated here chatting with you."
Again the expression of relief flashed across Barker's face—a bit of play lost by neither detective. Carroll was toying idly with a gold pencil on the end of his waldemar. His outward calmness exasperated Leverage. From this point of the interview, the chief of police would have dropped the attitude of trustful friendliness and resorted to a little practical third-degree stuff. He was fairly quivering with eagerness to bluster about the room and extract information by main force.
And a hint of Leverage's mental seethe must have been communicated to Carroll, for the younger man turned the battery of his sunny gaze upon the chief of police and nodded reassuringly. The effect was instantaneous. Leverage's temporary resentment departed much as the gas escapes from a pin-punctured balloon. He gave ear to Barker's speech.
"N'r you ain't the only one who don't know who that woman was. I don't!"
"You knew he was planning to elope, though?"
The man shook his head doggedly.
"I knew he was leavin' the city for good, if that's what you mean."
"No-o, not exactly. I knew that much myself. What interests me is this—was he planning to leave with some woman?"