“Go on,” said Elsie, breathlessly, “what about Kim?”
“Nothing about him,—nothing at all. But it’s my belief she has Mr. Courtney there,—in her place,—because of her—well, because of a lot of things I saw.”
“You went there?”
“I did. And Miss Lloyd so little expected any inquisitive intruders that I caught her utterly unprepared. I rather rudely brushed past the maid, who was taking my card to the lady, and I entered the room just as an inner door closed behind a hurried departure of somebody. I only deduce that somebody was Mr. Wallace Courtney, for these reasons. First, there was a definite odour of good cigar smoke in the room. Second, there were papers and notebooks scattered about a desk,—whose chair was pushed aside as if just vacated by its occupant. Third, Miss Lloyd, herself, who rose hastily from her typewriter table, was exceedingly flustered and absurdly angry at my intrusion.”
“Hadn’t she a right to be?” asked Whiting, a little severely, for he did not approve of the young man’s easy-going ways.
“Sure she had! I fully expected it. Well, I simply said, ‘Where’s Mr. Courtney gone?’ and she did the high and mighty, ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir!’ with a loud exclamation point after the ‘sir!’ And then with the usual tragedy queen gag, she pointed to the door. But I had caught on to the dope I was after, and casually picking up a few sheets of the copy she had just written, I saw it was a play, and I saw the characters in said play, were named. ‘Mrs. Saltonstall, Mr. Cabot and Miss Adams.’ I glanced at the notes on the abandoned desk hard by, and found the same names scribbled there. To make assurance sure, I helped myself to a page of the scribblement, and came away. That was all I did there. Then I went to the Workers’ Club, and somehow or other I wormed myself in, and I managed to get the information from a friend of Mr. Courtney’s that the page of scribbled notes is in his handwriting and that Mr. Courtney’s play included the characters named as I have hereinbefore enumerated! That’s about all.”
“And enough!” cried Whiting. “Man, you’re a wonder! Courtney is there, of course—”
“And I see farther into it than you do!” Elsie exclaimed; “that Lulie Lloyd is giving Mr. Courtney all the points of Kim’s play! She’s Kim’s stenographer, you know!”
CHAPTER VIII
COURTNEY’S TALK
When Elsie arrived at Lulie Lloyd’s home, that young woman greeted her most pleasantly.