"Sure there is," she said. "There's another woman. There always is."
Elden walked to his desk. From a drawer he took a revolver; toyed with it a moment in his hands; broke it open, crammed it full of cartridges and thrust it in his pocket.
The girl watched him with friendly interest. "Believe me, Dave," she said, "if Conward turns up missing I won't know a thing—not a d—— thing."
For a moment he stood irresolute. He could only guess what Conward's plan had been, but that it had been diabolical and cowardly, and that it concerned Irene, he had no doubt. His impulse was to immediately confront Conward, force a confession, and deal with him as the occasion might seem to require. But his eye fell on the boy, with his shock of brown hair and wistful, half-frightened face.
"I'll go with you first," he said, with quick decision. Then to the girl, "Sorry I must turn you out, but this case is urgent."
"That's all right," she said. Suddenly there was a little catch in her voice. "I'm used to being turned out."
He shot a sharp glance at her. Her face was laughing. "You're too decent for your job," he said, abruptly.
"Thanks, Dave," she answered, and he saw her eyes glisten. "That helps—some." And before he knew it she was into the street.
"All right, son," said Dave, taking up the matter now in hand. "What's your name—your first name?"
"Charlie."