"I like the name," urged the policeman. "I saw it in a book."
The girl was breathing hard.
"Is this man a policeman?" she cried.
"Yes, he is," said Hamilton Beamish. "His name is Garroway, and I am teaching him to write poetry. And what I want to know," he thundered, turning on the unhappy man, whose Adam's apple was now leaping like a young lamb in the springtime, "is what are you doing here, interrupting a—interrupting a—in short interrupting, when you ought either to be about your constabulary duties or else sitting quietly at home studying John Drinkwater. That," said Hamilton Beamish, "is what I want to know."
Officer Garroway coughed.
"The fact is, Mr. Beamish, I did not know that Madame Eulalie was a friend of yours."
"Never mind whose friend she is."
"But it makes all the difference, Mr. Beamish. I can now go back to headquarters and report that Madame Eulalie is above suspicion. You see, sir, I was sent here by my superior officers to effect a cop."
"What do you mean, effect a cop?"
"To make an arrest, Mr. Beamish."