“Who’s she?” said Banneker.
“Good Lord! Don’t you ever read the news?” cried the disgusted journalist. “Why, she’s had her picture published more times than a movie queen. She’s the youngest daughter of Cyrus Wrightington, the multi-millionaire philanthropist. Now did you see anything of that kind on the train?”
“What does she look like?” asked the cautious Banneker.
“She looks like a million dollars!” declared the other with enthusiasm. “She’s a killer! She’s tall and blonde and a great athlete: baby-blue eyes and general rosebud effect.”
“Nothing of that sort on the train, so far as I saw,” said the agent.
“Did you see any couple that looked lovey-dovey?”
“No.”
“Then, there’s another tip that connects her up with Carter Holmesley. Know about him?”
“I’ve seen his name.”
“He’s been on a hell of a high-class drunk, all up and down the coast, for the last week or so. Spilled some funny talk at a dinner, that got into print. But he put up such a heavy bluff of libel, afterward, that the papers shied off. Just the same, I believe they had it right, and that there was to have been a wedding-party on. Find the girl: that’s the stunt now.”