"Mr. Harmer. Do I understand that the lady who is — was — staying here is a film actress?"
"Is she a film actress!" Slow amazement deprived Mr. Harmer for once of speech. Then it began to dawn on him that he must have made a mistake. "Say, Chris is staying here, isn't she?"
"The lady's name is Chris, yes. But — well, perhaps you'll be able to help us. There's been some trouble — very unfortunate — and apparently she said her name was Robinson."
The man laughed in rich amusement. "Robinson! That's a good one. I always said she had no imagination. Couldn't write a gag. Did you believe she was a Robinson?"
"Well, no; it seemed unlikely."
"What did I tell you! Well, just to pay her out for treating me like bits on the cutting-room floor, I'm going to split on her. She'll probably put me in the icebox for twenty-four hours, but it'll be worth it. I'm no gentleman, anyhow, so I won't damage myself in the telling. The lady's name, Sergeant, is Christine Clay."
"Christine Clay!" said the sergeant. His jaw slackened and dropped, quite beyond his control.
"Christine Clay!" breathed Mrs. Pitts, standing in the doorway, a forgotten tray of griddle cakes in her hands.
Chapter 3
"Christine Clay! Christine Clay!" yelled the midday posters.