The little man frowned, looked at him in disapproval of the question, and finally replied:
"Four months."
"Good."
"Look here, Mr. Bofinger, I want to know everything, complete. You know what that means?"
"Certainly."
The chair grated, the little man snapped to his feet, clapping down his hat.
"And see here. I forbid—that is, I want you to see that she don't suspect what's going on, not for a second. You hear—she's not to know I'm looking her up."
"That goes without saying. Now can I have a few days? Say—three from now. Where do you want me to report, Mr. ——"
"Mr. Bofinger," he cried angrily, "you ain't going to catch me with your lawyer's tricks. You thought you'd worm out of me where I lived, didn't you?" He stopped, glared at Bofinger and then cried: "Do you know what I think? I think you're nothing but a pettifogging lawyer—that there ain't no partner, and I'm no better'n a fool to talk to you. What do you say to that?"