"You don't say," says I. "Sorry to butt in, but I've got to have it all. Come, now!"
"But, Effendi——" he begins.
"No, not Fender," says I, "nor Footboard, or anything like that: just plain McCabe."
"It is a word of respect," says he, "such as Sir Lord; thus, Effendi McCabe."
"Well, cut out the frills and let's get down to brass tacks," says I. "You're here because you're here, I expect. But what else?"
He sighs, and then proceeds to let go of a little information. "You have under your roof," says he, "a Meesis Vogel, is it not?"
"Vogel?" says I, puzzled for a second. "You don't mean Lindy, do you?"
"She was called that, yes," says the Pasha, "Meelinda."
"But she's a Miss—old maid," says I.
"Ah?" says he, liftin' his bushy eyebrows. "A Mees, eh? It may be so. They tell me at her place of living that she is to be found here. Voilà! That is all."