"There is nothing to explain, since I know everything. See! His tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth. He quails! He cannot even lie! But wait until I have told the Piggy's husband—that big, black ruffian—then perhaps he will find his voice. Ah, if I had found that woman here there would have been a scene, I promise you."
"Help me—out," gasped Mr. Dreux, and Norvin came willingly to his friend's rescue.
"Bernie loves no one but you," he said.
"So? I glory in the fact that I loathe him."
"Please sit down."
"No!" Miss Delord plumped herself down upon the edge of the proffered seat, her toes bardy touching the floor.
"I'm—working Mrs. Poggi," Bernie explained. "I'm a—detective."
"What new falsehood is this?"
"No falsehood at all," Norvin told her. "He is a detective—a very fine one, too—and he has been working on the Mafia case for a long time. It has been part of his work to follow the Poggis. Please don't allow your jealousy to ruin everything."
"I am not jealous. I merely will not let him love another, that is all—But what is this you say?" Her velvet eyes had lost a little of their hardness; they were as round as buttons and fixed inquiringly upon the speaker.