“It’s a tip,” explained Mallory. “It’s from a pretty convincing source. The gist of it is that the Delavan Eyres have separated and a divorce is impending. You know, of course, who the Eyres are.”
“I’ve met Eyre.”
“That so? Ever met his wife?”
“No,” replied Banneker, in good faith.
“No; you wouldn’t have, probably. They travel different paths. Besides, she’s been practically living abroad. She’s a stunner. It’s big society stuff, of course. The best chance of landing the story is from Archie Densmore, her half-brother. The international polo-player, you know. You’ll find him at The Retreat, down on the Jersey coast.”
The Retreat Banneker had heard of as being a bachelor country club whose distinguishing marks were a rather Spartan athleticism, and a more stiffly hedged exclusiveness than any other social institution known to the élite of New York and Philadelphia, between which it stood midway.
“Then I’m to go and ask him,” said Banneker slowly, “whether his sister is suing for divorce?”
“Yes,” confirmed Mallory, a trifle nervously. “Find out who’s to be named, of course. I suppose it’s that new dancer, though there have been others. And there was a quaint story about some previous attachment of Mrs. Eyre’s: that might have some bearing.”
“I’m to ask her brother about that, too?”
“We want the story,” answered Mallory, almost petulantly.