The very terseness of her question seemed to jerk an unwilling answer from the guard.
"Michael Mehan."
"And you're employed by the Owners' Protective League?"
"Sure."
"Have they given you orders to keep strangers out of the district?"
"I have me orders, and I know what they be. I'm duly sworn in as extra guard—and I'm not the only one, neither."
"Did he come after you?" Miss Eliot indicated the ruffian at his side.
"I seen the lady owner blew the bunch," that worthy remarked with a hoarse chuckle. "I wised Mike, all right. Whatcha goin' to do about it?"
"Mrs. Brewster-Smith, the owner," Miss Eliot observed, "didn't seem to know that she had employed you. How about that?"
"I'm put here by the O.P.L. That's good enough fer yer lady owner—now—ain't it? The things them nosey dames thinks they can git by wit'!" he observed to the guard, and swore an oath that made Mr. Glass turn to him with unexpected fury.