“Does her visitor share that eccentricity?”
Banneker made no reply.
“See here, Banneker,” said the reporter earnestly; “I’d like to know why you’re against me in this thing.”
“What thing?” fenced the agent.
“My search for Io Welland.”
“Who is Io Welland, and what are you after her for?” asked Banneker steadily.
“Apart from being the young lady that you’ve been escorting around the local scenery,” returned the imperturbable journalist, “she’s the most brilliant and interesting figure in the younger set of the Four Hundred. She’s a newspaper beauty. She’s copy. She’s news. And when she gets into a railroad wreck and disappears from the world for weeks, and her supposed fiancé, the heir to a dukedom, makes an infernal ass of himself over it all and practically gives himself away to the papers, she’s big news.”
“And if she hasn’t done any of these things,” retorted Banneker, drawing upon some of Camilla Van Arsdale’s wisdom, brought to bear on the case, “she’s libel, isn’t she?”
“Hardly libel. But she isn’t safe news until she’s identified. You see, I’m playing an open game with you. I’m here to identify her, with half a dozen newspaper photos. Want to see ’em?”
“No, thank you.”