Both detectives nodded with no apparent quickening of interest, though inwardly highly intrigued.
“I suggested a private detective agency,” continued Graham, “and Harrison blew up at once, roaring at me that if he had wanted a private detective he would not have sent for me.
“I kept quiet after that and he went on to say that the girl was the daughter of an old friend who had died insolvent. He had arranged with an old couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Cuddy, to bring her up as their own child. She was three when her father died. He had paid them small monthly sums for years for her education and her keep, as he put it. Recently, by the merest chance, he had read a brief item about an explosion of a still at the Cuddy home in which there was no mention of a daughter. He had investigated on his own hook and discovered that the girl had run away nearly three years before. Now he wanted her found.”
“Or his money back!” suggested Landis irrepressibly.
“He mentioned that,” laughed Graham. “He said he was going to make it hot for the Cuddys one of these days. But the girl had to be found first and he wanted me to find her.”
“Don’t see anything particularly confidential about that—from Harrison’s point of view,” grumbled Bernard.
“He explained that, too! He told me that, so far as he knew, Ethel Cuddy believed herself the daughter of the old couple she ran away from. He didn’t want her undeceived on that point because it might put ideas in her head if she learned that a millionaire was interested in her. Oh, he was quite, quite frank about it.”
“Pleasant character, Harrison,” observed Landis.
“So I thought! Anyhow, he wanted me to find where she was and report her circumstances to him. He did not want me to speak to her or get in touch with her in any way. It was a large order to find one girl in New York. But he offered me a thousand dollars and I undertook the job.”
Graham glanced up at this point to discover that his visitors were both smiling. He stared from one to the other.