“Yes,” he answered. “The intention evidently was to smuggle it through the Customs.”
“Do you really think so?” she demanded, interested. “I haven’t the faintest idea who could have sent it to me.”
“Of course you haven’t,” he said in his blandest, most reassuring manner. It was a manner that made the listening Duncan wonder what was to follow. His chief was always most deadly when he purred. “It’s a mistake,” he continued, “but the record will probably shed some light on the matter. Duncan,” he called sharply, “go and get those papers relating to Miss Cartwright.”
His assistant looked at him blankly.
“Papers?” he repeated. “What papers, sir?”
“The papers relating to the package sent Miss Cartwright from Paris.” There was a significance in his tone that was not lost on Duncan. Gibbs would have argued it out, but Duncan though in the dark followed his cue.
“Oh, those papers,” he answered. “I’ll get ’em, sir.”
When he had gone the girl turned to Taylor.
“Do you know,” she asserted, “I feel quite excited at being here and sitting in a chair in which you probably often examine smugglers. One reads about it constantly.”
“It’s being done all the time,” he responded, “among all sorts of people. Now, Miss Cartwright, since we are talking of smuggling, I’d like to have a little business chat with you if I may.”