“See that she meets some people, Bop,” Banneker directed. “Gaines of The New Era, if he’s here, and Betty Raleigh, and that new composer, and the Junior Masters.”
Edmonds nodded, and escorted her downstairs. Nicely judging the time when Banneker would have finished, he was back in quarter of an hour. The stenographer had just left.
“What a superb woman, Ban!” he said. “It’s small wonder that Enderby lost himself.”
Banneker nodded. “What would she have said if she could know that you, an absolute stranger, had been the means of saving her from a terrific scandal? Gives one a rather shivery feeling about the power and responsibility of the press, doesn’t it?”
“It would have been worse than murder,” declared the veteran, with so much feeling that his friend gave him a grateful look. “What’s she doing in New York? Is it safe?”
“Came on to see a specialist. Yes; it’s all right. The Enderbys are abroad.”
“I see. How long since you’d seen her?”
“Before this trip? Last spring, when I took a fortnight off.”
“You went clear West, just to see her?”
“Mainly. Partly, too, to get back to the restfulness of the place where I never had any troubles. I’ve kept the little shack I used to own; pay a local chap named Mindle to keep it in shape. So I just put in a week of quiet there.”