"Very thoughtless of him," says I. "Come on, Bishop, we'll take this along as a clue and see what Vandy has to say."
He's a human kodak, Vandy is—makes a livin' takin' pictures for the newspapers. You can't break into the swell push, or have an argument with Teddy, or be tried for murder, without Vandy's showin' up to make a few negatives. So I flashes the photo of Ducky on him.
"Who's the wide one?" says I.
"Why, don't you know who that is, Shorty?" says he.
"Say, do you think I'd be chasin' up any flashlight pirate like you, if I did?" says I. "What's her name?"
"That's Madam Brooklini, of course," says he.
"What, the thousand-dollar-a-minute warbler?" says I. "And me seein' her lithographs all last winter! Gee, Bishop! I thought you followed grand opera closer'n that."
"I should have recalled her," says the Bishop; "but I see so many faces——"
"Only a few like that, though," says I. "Vandy, where do you reckon Mrs. Greater New York could be located just about now?"
Vandy has the whole story down pat. Seems she's been over here out of season bringin' suit against her last manager; but havin' held him up for everything but the gold fillin' in his front teeth, she is booked to sail back to her Irish castle at four in the mornin'. He knows the steamer and the pier number.