“I dare say you are right. Suppose I refer you to my brother-in-law, Roy Axford. Will his word be sufficient?”
“Yes.”
Roy Axford— R. F. Axford—was a mining man who had a finger in at least half of the big business enterprises of the Pacific Coast; and his word on anything was commonly considered good enough for anybody.
“If you can get in touch with him now,” I said, “and arrange for me to see him today, I can get started without much delay.”
Pangburn crossed the room and dug a telephone out from among a heap of his ornaments. Within a minute or two he was talking to someone whom he called “Rita.”
“Is Roy home? … Will he be home this afternoon? … No, you can give him a message for me, though. … Tell him I’m sending a gentleman up to see him this afternoon on a personal matter—personal with me—and that I’ll be very grateful if he’ll do what I want. … Yes. … You’ll find out, Rita. … It isn’t a thing to talk about over the phone. … Yes, thanks!”
He pushed the telephone back into its hiding place and turned to me.
“He’ll be at home until two o’clock. Tell him what I told you and if he seems doubtful, have him call me up. You’ll have to tell him the whole thing; he doesn’t know anything at all about Miss Delano.”
“All right. Before I go, I want a description of her.”
“She’s beautiful!” he exclaimed. “The most beautiful woman in the world!”
That would look nice on a reward circular.
“That isn’t exactly what I want,” I told him. “How old is she?”