In appearance this person was not so very different from the three nearer at hand. Natty brown suit, black derby, bright tie, spats, and all that. But his face! Ah, there you had it! His cheeks wore a healthy glow. His muscles were smooth and hard. In the eyes of these three who had so suddenly come upon her there was a nervous twitch. Their faces spoke of excess: too much money, too much fun, too many hours in a day, too much everything.
“Oh, all right!” She tossed her head in the LeMar manner. “I’ll go. Which way? Over here?” She walked rapidly toward the one on the corner.
Caught off their guard, the gay trio followed. Not until it was too late did they realize that they had been tricked.
“Why, hello, my good friend Pat!” Jeanne called suddenly, as if the meeting had been by chance. She grasped the firm hand of the one on the corner. “Boys,” she trilled, “this is Pat Murphy. He’s a detective, aren’t you, Pat? Show them your star, Pat.”
Pat grinned as he threw open his coat.
“Been looking for pickpockets and—and mashers, haven’t you, Pat?” Jeanne gave her detective friend a look.
“Yeah. Just anything. A fellow’s gotta make a pinch now and then to hold his job.” Pat was still grinning. For all that, a queer something had stolen into his voice.
“Oh say, George!” one of the joy-hunting trio exclaimed. “Forgot something, didn’t we? Directors’ meeting, or something like that. It was at ten sharp, wasn’t it?
“Awfully sorry!” He turned hurriedly to Jeanne. “Be seeing you again, LeMar.”
“We’ll be seeing you.”