Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll’s mind that this wasn’t going to be as simple as he had expected.
“Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster’s insulter?”
“No.”
“Are you telling me the truth?” asked the Southerner sternly.
The begoggled one’s chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, swift to interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins’s weight had almost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity.
“Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn’t look out,” he reflected.
But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins’s voice as he replied:—
“I know who he is. I don’t know him.”
“Was it Von Plaanden?”
“Why do you want to know?”