As if to break the spell of embarrassment that hovered over them, the girl wrote swiftly: “Won’t you tell me something of yourself and your work?”
It is said that opposites attract. Surely this must be the true explanation of the brightness in Anabelle Talbot’s hazel eyes as she sat listening to the radio cop, and of his willingness to talk. Talking was the thing he did best and he set himself to break all records.
For an hour his voice flowed on, as he told her of the police department, of the woman who had called out the homicide squad when she mistook the scratchings of a stray cat in her cellar for the supernatural activities of her long-deceased husband, of the trials and tribulations of a radio announcer, of the joys and fears and hopes of a little officer who never made an arrest.
It almost seemed that the ideal was trying to blossom into being. At any rate, friendship came swiftly, so swiftly that when Dave Cates rose to leave he asked hesitantly: “Is there any chance of us having another talk before Friday night?”
Her answer was: “I’ll be here every evening until it’s time to go out to the hall.”
Cates wanted to accompany her out to the Salon Quintesse, but she wouldn’t permit it. Margolo’s men might become curious, and that would be bad.
Naturally the word spread, started by the grinning Tom Jennings who had learned things. Busy as they were at headquarters with the operation of the dragnet, all had time for a glance at the affair of the radio cop and Anabelle Talbot.
“If that don’t beat the devil!” observed Captain Henessey. “A talking fool and a girl who can’t say a word. Still, that may have its advantages. If the girl could talk, neither one of ’em would be able to get a word in edgeways.”
Of course Dave Cates came in for a share of kidding. No class of men enjoys their jokes more than that which preserves the peace.
Cates took their kidding in good part. “Have a good time, you guys!” he retorted. “My chance will come next and when it does—zowie!”